As Flies to Wanton Boys
by Ikonopeiston
Summary: This carries the character Nooj into his career in the Crusaders. Chapter Sixteen is the final chapter in this effort and brings the history of Nooj to the point at which The Confessional begins.
1. Chapter 1

Ritual disclaimer: The recognizable names and places in this pathetic offering belong to Square/Enix. What has been done with them, for good or ill, is my responsibility and does not reflect on any other. 

This is a sequel to _The Exit._

**As Flies to Wanton Boys**

As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; They kill us for their sport.

William Shakespeare

Chapter One

He no longer dreamt. At least he no longer remembered if he did dream. His life was consumed now with the destruction of the spawn of Sin and attendant fiends. At the end of a day of fighting, he was likely to sink down where he stood and sleep wherever his body found sufficient space to lie, stretched out or curled like a grub, it no longer mattered. It was less sleep than the departure of consciousness. And he welcomed it, this deep darkness into which he found himself descending at intervals, this place of no sensation and no memories.

Blood and less savory fluids had dried and caked on his exposed skin. He could not remember the last time he had washed. Sometimes in the midst of a fierce battle, he would find himself mentally transported back to a time when he had been clean both physically and emotionally, when he had felt at peace and could bear to touch his own flesh without a shudder. There was never any time nor ever any facilities for rest and bathing. Existence had become reduced to an unending slog through a mephitic fog of kill and try to stay alive.

Why try to stay alive? He was Deathseeker and always, even in this unthinking condition, aware of that. Nothing he had yet encountered seemed worth the dying. He was sworn to seek a proper place to die with honor and falling to the feeble attacks of purely bestial fiends did not meet those standards. He would be damned if he would die anonymously in a minor struggle with inferior foes.

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Nooj had made a relatively ordinary entrance into the Crusader Corps upon graduation from the three year course of training mandated for those who would be officers in the Spiran Army. As a junior, he had been given command of a platoon – the Crusaders did not organize into large groups, preferring to field smaller more flexible units and rewarding individual distinction over mass action.

Once supplied with his crimson dress uniform, which set off his dark hair and eyes very well, he slipped into his place in the initial reviewing with only the slightest of stirs. Certain details of his nascent career had preceded him but nothing to his discredit. Some of the less mature of his fellow lieutenants strained their eyes to catch a glimpse of the famously scarred back as he smoothed the tight garment which made up most of the uniform over his shoulders and across his chest. He ignored the murmurs as they took note of the most recent, still scarlet, marks of the whip.

The elastic fabric of the uniform felt so strange after the loose fit of his cadet garb and defined the shape of his body so exactly he was uncomfortable before the staring eyes of the others in the room. He rarely used a mirror thus knew little of how he appeared to those around him but he was sensible enough to realize there was a good percentage of lust in the gazes which lingered so obviously on his form. It was with some relief he discovered he was not expected to wear the close-fitting outfit for any but ceremonial events, it being too colorful for field use. However, since the more subdued uniform for actual fighting was hardly less snug, his relief was short-lived. He had to admit it was useful to wear clothing which did not snag on obstacles and did not offer fluttering sleeves or such as a target, but he would have been more comfortable in garments which did not reveal quite so many of his contours to the casual onlooker.

He was made even more uncomfortable by the fact he was now responsible for about thirty persons of both genders and varying degrees of skill in the arts of war. During his three years in training, he had been required to take on the leadership of groups and had, during the execution of exercises, lost two persons under his command. Although neither loss had been his personal fault, he had felt the failures acutely and had, in fact, suffered the whip's thongs for each. Now, he was in charge of a platoon and in line for the leadership of more and he hated it. All he had ever wanted was the privilege of going alone in pursuit of his own Death. Taking a sizable number of other persons with him held no attraction.

Nooj was Deathseeker. In any society which is forced to value physical force as a means to defend itself and to elevate the military to a revered position, there will be a certain number of persons who find the concept of actively hunting a way and place to die irresistibly appealing. After so long a time of struggling against Sin and the threat of that mighty enemy, Spira had accepted the existence of such nihilists and given them a name – Deathseeker. There were never many at any given time for the obvious reason they tended not to live long lives and not many persons found the notion of suicide greatly attractive. A felo-de-se, while inherently romantic, does not reap the lasting rewards of heroism or fame. Exact records had never been kept but it was generally assumed that there would be no more than two or, maybe, three of that persuasion at any given moment. In fact, so far as anyone could determine, Nooj was the only one living at this precise time. Since Spira found fatalists to be of use in the continual battle, no effort was made on the institutional level to dissuade them. However, such tolerance was not the rule on the ground. Few troops were eager to be led by a known Deathseeker.

It was only after several months and numerous missions against the burgeoning fiend population that Nooj was able to begin to extricate himself from the more conventional part of the Corps. He volunteered for single forays which were considered too dangerous for most of his companions and gladly joined with one or two other risk-takers to engage in behind the scenes guerilla-type actions involving assassinations and the like. In spite of his height, he possessed the enviable skill of being able to disappear when he wished, to come from nowhere to remove a traitorous figure, then vanish back into the landscape before being identified.

It was one such deed which earned him his public cognomen. At the headquarters to which Nooj was attached, it had become known that a certain Guardo had thrown his lot in with profiteers who were preying upon refugees who were making their way from the devastated areas near the shore toward the supposedly safer region inland. Darundum, for such was his name, had set up a small but reportedly impregnable camp on the near side of the Moonflow from which he extorted what little of value the fleeing people had managed to retain, both by overcharging them for supplies and by directly selling them 'protection' for the next stage of the journey. This enterprise was itself protected by an army of thugs who served as bodyguards for the Guardo chief and as the mercenary defenders of those to whom he sold safety. It was generally agreed amongst the Crusader leaders that the removal of Darundum would cause the criminal network to fall apart and would deter others who seemed set on the same path. The problem – how to reach into the organization and pluck out the central figure? It was a suicide mission with small hope of success. Of course, upon hearing of the tentative plans, Nooj stepped forward. It was just what he was always looking for.

When he returned from this excursion, carrying the head of the Guardo in a pouch at his belt, his clothes torn and bloody, he was hailed as a hero. Then when he collapsed and it was revealed he had been shot through the thigh and slashed deeply across the ribs by a saber and had still managed to slaughter a goodly number of the outlaws who had defended the chief criminal, he was exuberantly celebrated as 'Die Hard' or 'Undying' by those who found it difficult to conceive of mastering pain and injuries in order to finish a job. It was at this point many reconsidered the advantages of serving under the command of this particular Deathseeker. He seemed lucky in a contradictory fashion. To their disappointment, he showed neither a desire for followers nor any awareness that he would be readily followed.

After removing Darundum, Nooj found it easier to pursue his solitary way. The Crusaders became his home in a way Kilika had not been since the death of his parents. He was no longer expected to shoulder the responsibility for ordinary troops, being saved for those times when a unique and skillful strategist was required. He still fought in the set battles against Sin spawn and other congregations of monsters, but those battles had become little more than practice games for him, events in which he could experiment with the various ways of prolonging the deaths of his foes. He was becoming quite inventive in that art.

In his personal life, he maintained a rigorous privacy. During his years at training camp, he had permitted into his citadel two living creatures: Kaith, his second in command and his lover, and Nepetu, the orphaned kit of a pair of Coeurl he had killed. These two shared his bed, one platonically, the other not, and his innermost thoughts. When Kaith died in an exercise Nooj himself had designed, he had been unable to mourn her properly and so she remained an unresolved part of his past. The coeurl he had been forced to return to the wild when he entered the Crusaders, there being no place for animal companions in the Corps. The pain of those losses made him resolve never to permit such closeness again.

So Nooj was alone. He did not make friends easily and chose to hold himself apart from his fellows in the service, not wanting to risk human concerns clouding his judgment or hampering his decisions. So, for diversion, he availed himself of the pleasure houses which always spring up near army encampments and, more cautiously, those less easily found houses which cater to other tastes. In this manner, he was able to sublimate to a degree the cold despair which had become an integral part of him in order to concentrate on his unvarying resolution.

Within months of entering the Crusaders, the young officer believed himself to be well positioned to accomplish his primary intention – his own honorable death. He offered his life again and again, only to find it handed back to him like an dropped handkerchief. It mystified him that so many of those around him died with such apparent ease while he remained breathing. In an effort to rectify the unbalance, he became ever more daring, rushing into dangers even immortals would have found daunting and yet emerging, shot, cut, bruised, burned, but alive. So it was that those who served with him almost forgot his proper name, calling him simply 'Undying' as had those who were familiar with the Darundum exploit. The scars he bore equaled the decorations he earned and yet he lived.

It is generally understood amongst professional military philosophers the most difficult and important part of making a soldier is not teaching techniques of weapons use nor strategic planning nor any of the other minutiae which go into the making of war, but rather training the individual how to summon up the mental strength to kill. In this, Nooj had a rare and very nearly unique edge. He had never lacked that ability. He was able to step aside from the act and judge it dispassionately. He was one in whom nature and experience had combined to shape a Warrior – for however brief or extended a time. As such, he killed his enemy when it was necessary and ignored him when it was not. He could maintain his mind as a compartmentalized structure in which various realities did not overlap. This enabled him to be Deathseeker and yet not die carelessly and to no purpose. He was beginning to come to terms with his existence, for so long as he must endure it.

During this period of hard but sporadic fighting, Nooj exercised rigorous discipline over his memories. He had carefully and meticulously stripped as much humanity as possible from himself before he had accepted his commission in the Crusaders. He was not about to permit any softness to erode his purpose now. When the fragile image fragments of Nepetu or Kaith made themselves manifest at the corners of his mind, he banished them with efficient dispatch lest he be seduced into grieving for his losses. Still, sometimes in the night, when he was very tired and his defenses were at their lowest, he was visited by the phantoms of his humanity and touched the great cat or the woman with fingers which hungered for softness. He never remembered any of this in the mornings.

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It was with some trepidation, Nooj received the summons to report to the office of his chief that morning. He was reasonably content with his position in the Crusaders and dreaded any change. He had earned the rank of Captain and was mostly left to his own devices. And always at the back of his mind was the possibility of his private amusements being uncovered and official notice being taken. Therefore, when he stood at attention before the desk of Major Ciele, he regarded the man with a wary eye.

"Sir. You commanded my attendance, sir."

"Yes, Captain Nooj, I have been reviewing your actions and behavior since you came into the corps a half-year ago and have noted your talent for undertaking difficult assignments on your own. That has given me an idea."

"Yessir." Nooj was properly suspicious of new ideas. All too often they were inferior to the old ones and, like a cat, he did not like change.

The Major continued, shuffling the papers on his desk, "I have in mind the creation of a squad of approximately eight to ten men to constitute a mobile, highly flexible source which can be quickly dispatched to handle tricky problems like the one with that Guardo, Darundum. It takes too long to ready, form up and march a Company or more of us to put out brush fires and such a small effective group would be more in accord with the original spirit of the Crusaders. What do you think?" He peered near-sightedly up at the young man.

Nooj was taken aback. It was not the usual thing for a senior officer to ask a junior's opinion. "I have no thoughts on the matter, sir. It is a question for an experienced Warrior such as yourself. Sir." He added the second honorific just to be safe.

"But I intend to appoint you to head the squad. Go over to that table. The rolls of the available troops are there and I want you to select the ones you think would be suitable. Choose those you can work with well." Ciele gestured carelessly and promptly ignored the bristling Nooj.

The young Captain did as he was told, all the while raging within. He had learned some discretion during his final year in training. Choose people he could work with! Choose suitable people! He had made no intimates amongst his fellow Corpsmen and worked best alone. The only guidelines he could use were the names of those he had accompanied on other forays. Would there be enough of them to fill a squad? He knew from experience that any who had fought alongside him personally would follow him because he had the reputation of putting his own life at risk before hazarding that of his men. They would not be deterred by his reputation as Deathseeker. With some searching, he found nine who were suitable and grudgingly made a list. There it was - once again, he would be bound to the leadership cross and forced to consider, not just his own fate, but that of those he led. Bah! As so often before, he was confirmed in his belief that change was generally a bad thing.

He surveyed his list one more time - none of them had yet made rank higher than lieutenant. He thought, with justification, those who needed to rise would be less likely to hold back in the face of danger and wished for the first time he had taken the trouble to get to know some of the younger inductees better before being forced to this decision.

"Will this be adequate, sir?" he asked stiffly as he laid the paper on the Major's desk.

Ciele looked at the names. "I note you are choosing those with no strong ties to anything other than the army. Well done. I knew I could rely on your intelligence. This is fine. You may inform your choices of their good fortune, have them pack their gear and be ready to leave in two days' time. ... Oh, and if you like you have permission to choose a name for your squadron." He laughed a little nervously at suggesting so puerile a thought to the frozen faced Nooj. For some reason, he was nervous around the man, finding in him something so far undefined and frightening. "Some find it helps unit cohesion. Dismissed."

Nooj looked at the man who was a Major in the Crusaders with a contempt which was well masked by the control he exercised over his features and, saluting smartly, turned on his heel and left the room. He was more irritated than honored by the new assignment and looked forward to assuming his new responsibilities with some disgust. So he must play the nanny again? Time for a visit to that discreet building behind the shoopuf agency.

Oct 10, 20055181298


	2. Chapter 2 Nooj Amuses Himself

A/N: Parts of this chapter may be objectionable to some readers for various reasons. Please be advised that some of the subject matter is not at all suitable for those with delicate minds or of a prudish nature. It is, I remind you, rated 'M' for good reason.

**Chapter Two**

_Nooj s'amuse_

The Crusader camp to which Nooj was attached was located on the road leading from Djose to the Moonflow, near the spot where the path took an angular turn. From this strategic spot, the armed force could monitor several points with ease. Because of the semi-permanent nature of the camp, a number of facilities to provide services to the men and women stationed there had also sprung up. Rin, an Al Bhed entrepreneur, had established a trading post in a large tent and left it under the care of one of his many protégés. There were other business, housed in similar mobile structures, purveying other necessities to the troops. One of these was a surprisingly well-equipped and varied house of pleasure featuring both men and women, boys and girls, and a few assorted animals of the less lethal types. A bar with live entertainment was open at all hours of the day and night. Facilities for bathing and having uniforms cleaned were offered for token sums, the hot baths being particularly welcome after prolonged periods in the field spent hacking through fiends and bandits. And, discreetly hidden away in the brush was a very private and very expensive establishment catering to very private and very depraved tastes. It was to this place of commerce Nooj went directly after his interview with Major Ciele.

Nooj was a man of strong passions and a habitué of both the pleasure house and this other – which might be termed a house of pain. He had discovered the most efficient way to sublimate the rages which had begun to threaten his self-control was to be found in such places. It was not the perfect solution but it did work and prevented worse things from happening.

"Good morning, Captain." The woman behind the reception desk was well-trained. Real names were never used here. "Will it be the usual today or have you any special requests?"

"The usual I think. Have you anyone short and just slightly overweight? Male, of course."

"Hm..." She flipped through the file in front of her. "I think we can supply that. We had a fresh shipment from the temples last night. Here's your key, the first room on the left. Would you like to sign the slip now or wait until you're finished."

Nooj glared, "You must be an idiot. You should remember I don't want to talk to anyone after I'm through. I'll sign now." He scrawled his identifier on the scrap of paper she extended toward him.

Once in the private room with the outer door locked behind him, Nooj tossed his sword aside and drew his dagger, carefully testing its point. He prowled restlessly within the narrow confines between the bed and the table, pausing to reposition the bowl and its matching water pitcher. After a few minutes, the inner door swung open and a man was ushered into the room.

The new occupant was about a foot shorter than Nooj and lightly padded with a soft layer of fat dimpling his pale skin, garbed only in a sleeveless shirt reaching to his mid-thighs. He walked over to the taller man and stood humbly before him with eyes cast down and hands folded at his groin. Nooj looked him over carefully before nodding to the attendant, "He'll do." The door closed and the two men were alone.

"Are you here of your own free will?" Nooj knew they all signed documents to that effect but he was unable to begin without verifying their submission for himself. "Have you been persuaded to this decision by any threat or promise?"

The man looked up, resentment and resignation mingled in his gaze. It was a look to which Nooj had become accustomed. "I am here because I am willing and I am doing this freely."

"Your reason?" The Crusader could not let it go without trying.

"My reason is my own. I was told I would not have to reveal it to any one except a priest."

"I want to understand why those like you do this." Nooj insisted.

"Why do you think you have a right to understand? You're just the consumer. Do you interview your food?" The smaller man was not without courage or wit.

Nooj shook his head. "I don't want that. I want to know why."

"It's not your affair; you and people like you need us and use us. Be satisfied that you have us."

"Do you know what I intend to do?"

"Not exactly. It doesn't matter. I am here to serve you as you wish without any limits or restrictions." Still there was the stubborn undertone.

"I am going to hurt you – hurt you very badly. Are you prepared for that? When I am done you will more than likely be dead." He continued his own ritual of interrogation. "You will not die easily nor quickly. Do you understand?"

The unnamed man nodded.

"And knowing this, you are still willing?" Nooj persevered. "The room is soundproof. You may scream as much as you need. I will not be moved and no one else will hear you. There is only a small chance I may spare you but, even then, death may be preferable. I must be sure you consent to this." He paused then went on, "One thing I will promise you – you will come to an understanding of many things before the end. You will reach this understanding too late, however it may comfort you somewhat." The dark eyes, incongruously bleak in the young face, probed the other man's comprehension with a chilling lack of passion. "I will never know your name, nor will anyone other than the priest who sent you here. You will vanish from the world unvalued and unknown. Your existence will cease as though you had never been. Do you accept this?"

"Yes. I accept what you say but now I am curious. What will I understand?" The little man asked with his first show of interest in the conversation.

"You will have your answer soon. Unlike me. You still refuse to tell me why?"

A silent nod was his only answer. Not ever a stifled sob. Nooj took one step forward, tipped up the other's face with a hand on the chin and, moved by a great surge of love, gently kissed the man's lips before he raised his dagger to begin.

When it was done, Nooj walked over to the bureau where the pitcher and basin rested. He noted with distaste that he had some smears of blood on his clothing as well as the expected stains on his hands and his dagger. Even with that inconvenience he felt better, much of his tension gone and his anger largely dissipated. Toward the end, he had succeeded in seeing the image of Ciele on the face of the unnamed man and that had helped. So had the vision of knowledge pushing aside pain as life flickered out in the man's eyes. Breathing shallowly to avoid the stench of blood and offal in the air, he fastidiously cleaned his hands and his weapon, regarding the discolored water with disgust.

He sat down on the firm surface of the bed for a brief while, collecting himself and reliving the events of the past hours. He did not like to expose himself to the curious contempt of other eyes immediately after this activity. These occasions always offered him much the same sort of release as congress with a woman and he preferred to relish the echoes in privacy. The climax was mental rather than physical but the ultimate effect was similar. Each served to still a different set of demons. He knew he would visit the pleasure house as well before he slept this night, after he had assembled the ones who would comprise his new squad. He might even treat them to assignations as a token of their new positions. Yes, that would probably be the right thing to do. It would be the sort of thing a good leader would think of. They would enjoy themselves and he could disappear into the general rejoicing.

Not for the first time, he wondered what accounted for the small but steady supply of personages to houses like this. It had something to do with religion and, as he was firmly anti-clerical, he doubted he would ever fully grasp it. But he was serious when he questioned those he used; he was always curious about things he did not understand. This peculiar institution was a mystery to him; he did not like mysteries.

Without sparing a glance for the no longer recognizable figure on the floor, Nooj rose and adjusted his garments, making a mental note to go by his barracks and change so that he could drop the soiled tunic off at the cleaners on his way to inform the names on his list of the great honor to which they had been summoned.

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It had become as routine as a roll call, growing easier as he progressed on his way.

"Lieutenant Farata. You have been chosen to become a member of an elite within the elite. Report to assembly room B and await further information." He had repeated this formula six times and had only three more candidates to reach. He could have sent orderlies to summon the nine but he preferred to do the task himself in order to see how each responded and to expend some of the excess energy he had accumulated. With a stretching of his lips which was possibly meant as a smile he went on to the next on his list.

"Lieutenant Byllt."

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Nine young, freshly hatched Lieutenants stood at attention in Assembly Room B waiting for what was to come. They were a heterogeneous crew, seven males and two females, dressed in whatever combination of uniform and leisure clothing they had been wearing when they were tapped by the Captain who now stood gazing critically at them.

"It has been decided to create a squadron of Crusaders to operate independently of the main body here and elsewhere in order to respond with speed and expertise to control small disorders before they become great ones. You nine have been selected to make up that rapid response body under my command. You must know that the risks will be great but that the rewards will be commensurate to the dangers. You will be paid more generously than those not in this squad and you will have greater opportunities to make rank that you would otherwise have. It was given to me to select you; if I have made an error, you need not accept the challenge. You are at perfect liberty to decline to become part of this cadre. You have ten minutes to decide."

Nooj turned aside and pretended to busy himself with a pile of papers on the desk, ignoring the excited buzz of whispered conversation behind him. Only when silence again ruled did he face the group again. "Well?"

"Sir," Squab, the oldest and most experienced of the nine, saluted. "We are all of the same mind, sir. It will be our honor and pleasure to accept this assignment under your command. What are your orders, sir?" All nine snapped to attention as one.

"I am, of course, pleased to hear of your decision. Major Ciele has kindly given his permission for our team to choose a name by which it will be henceforth known. Do you have a preference?"

There was another huddle with fiercely muttered and hissed argument before Squab stepped forth again. "Sir. With your permission we will be call the Blood Avengers, sir."

Nooj stifled his gag reflex, "Very well. And now, my first order is that you repair this evening to the Pink Paradise for an evening of relaxation to celebrate the formation of the Blood Avengers. At my expense, of course. I shall meet you here again tomorrow at seven hundred hours to make plans for our relocation and further organization. Undress uniform will be worn at that time. Dismissed."

The team could hardly believe its good fortune. A ringing cascade of cheers broke out as they made a dash for the bath houses to prepare themselves for a night of passion and general drunkenness. Nooj scowled at their backs. Blood Avengers? Bah! They had neither sense nor imagination. He felt himself to be decades their senior even though he was at most a year older. But his judgment had been correct. A carnal treat was the proper gesture of a commander. He could easily afford such things because there was little demand on his purse. As a Captain, he was entitled to a share of the treasure collected by successful forays and he was paid well in addition to the bounties. He had no great concern for money; so long as he had enough to keep himself and to placate his demons he was content. There was no need to save for the future. He anticipated no future.

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The evening was still mild since the cold season was weeks away and the meadow hummed with the sounds of couples who had chosen to take their pleasure in the open air. Nooj had visited the establishment earlier to give the madam a list of the names of the Blood Avengers and request she keep a tab on them which he would settle at the end of the evening. He was known to be a man of his word so there was no difficulty making the arrangements. When he arrived at the house after dark had fallen, he could see several of his group already well occupied.

"Greetings, Captain Nooj, do you want to choose a companion? Kanya is free." The madam linked her arm in his and smiled up at him, knowing he had frequently used the tall dark-haired girl in the past. She tugged him over to her desk.

He thought for a moment then shook his head. "No, I don't think so tonight. Do you have a short blonde available. Somebody new, maybe?" He did not want to be reminded in any way of Kaith at this time not by coloration and not by name. A stranger seemed a safer choice.

The madam, her breasts bouncing like tethered balloons, thumbed through her book. "OK. I've got just the one for you. Here, take a look." She pushed the binder over to him. "Her name is Diuane. She has some special talents you may fancy."

He raised a curious eyebrow. "Oh, and what would they be?"

"I know what you like and she's the best I've ever seen. She can thread a needle without using her hands." The madam laughed, making a remarkably bawdy gesture with her tongue and fingers.

"Then by all means, I must try her. Go on and send her to me." Nooj scrawled his name across the bottom of the page. "If she's not up to your advertising, I'll take it out on you."

"Any time, Captain. I've not forgotten the last time. Your usual room is available."

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When the blonde girl with the fanciful braids pushed open the door, Nooj was already undressed and sprawled on the bed, the sheets drawn up to his waist. He beckoned her to him. "Do you know what to do?"

She flipped a wanton hip in his direction and smirked. "I'm no beginner. Just lie back and relax; leave it to me." With deliberately seductive moves, she began slithering out of the scanty garments which enhanced her body without disguising it. When she stood quite naked before him, she advanced on the bed and began to slowly pull away the coverlet. As he became visible to her sight, she paled slightly.

"You're a big 'un, aren't you? I ought to charge double."

"Lady, the deal has been struck. Don't bother with the flattery; get about your business." Nooj was perfectly aware of his proportions and their effect on whores.

Diuane knelt on the bed between his legs and bent forward, taking him gingerly into her mouth. She was lightly built, small in all her parts and it was a struggle. She looked up and, disengaging for a moment, said, "I'm glad it's not going in the other place."

"That comes later," he assured her without smiling. "This first. Get on with it." His hands caught her head and moved her firmly to the destination he desired. "Now."

Obediently, she stooped to her task, stretching her lips around him and taking his sack in her palm. Only the small sounds of muffled sucking and lapping disturbed the silence in the room. Nooj was not one to make noise in his pleasure, in any of them. When his climax approached, he clenched his teeth to hold back any moans or cries and let his body take its own path, arching and penetrating the girl to the back of her throat, filling her with his flesh and his fluid. She swallowed convulsively and gasped for breath as the obstruction was withdrawn and she was mistress of her mouth again. Almost suffocated, she flopped like a landed fish across his thighs, her lips bruised and swollen.

When he had recovered from his spasms and could speak, he patted her head. "You are good at that. Your madam was right. Now, rest a little and then we'll have another bout."

She slid up on the bed to nestle against him and he permitted it, pulling her close so as to enjoy her warm smoothness. She snuggled her head into the hollow formed where his shoulder joined with his neck and made little cooing sounds. Nooj enjoyed women very much. He was young and his blood ran hot. Against his will, he thought of Kaith and the innocence they had shared. Unless he was completely drunk, she always came to his mind when he lay with a woman, no matter the size or color. Kaith had been his first, the one with whom he had formed his tastes and habits, his perfect partner. She was dead and preserved in the amber of his memories, clean and flawless. He had not wanted to think about her tonight. It always seemed like a sacrilege to remember her purity after he had visited the House of Pain.

He traced the contours of the breasts and hips of the woman in his arms and tried to drive the image of his dead lover from his mind by thinking about all the other women he had bedded since he had become a Crusader. His experience had been varied and educational since then. Like an insomniac counting sheep, he recalled the looks and feel of the bodies he had plundered until he fell asleep.

Nooj was aroused in more ways than one by the touch of a small hand fondling him in a very intimate way. He smiled lazily and squeezed the breast he had been caressing when he had dozed off. "Ready for more sport, lady?"

She answered with a playful tweak as she stretched her neck up to reach his lips. He kissed her, exploring her mouth with his tongue until she broke for breath. When she offered him her nipple, he took it eagerly, nibbling and pulling like a nursing infant. His hand slipped between her thighs feeling from the moisture there that she was ready for him.

He was more than ready to make as good a use of her nether lips as the others and did not delay in spreading her legs widely to accommodate him. Shifting his body over hers, he entered her slowly, watching her face as he pressed steadily deeper. He could tell he was hurting her and it excited him even more to see the question in her face and to hear her panting whimpers. Deeper and deeper he plowed until it seemed he would split her before he was done. She tried to escape, pushing futilely at his chest. Nooj gave a short coughing laugh and pushed the final distance, striking against the furthermost parts of her womb, forcing a scream from her throat. Pinning her beneath him, he rested for a while, letting her adjust to his intrusion.

"I thought you were an experienced whore," he mocked, holding her wrists locked in one hand above her head. "You're putting on an excellent show. How many have you convinced you're a virgin with all this moaning and crying?"

She smiled, a rictus of pain and desire to please. "It's no game, my lord. I generally just play the flute and you're a little more than I reckoned for." He ground against her until she gasped, sensing her own passion igniting again in spite of the pain.

"Then I'll be sure to get my money's worth." He began a rocking motion with his loins while at the same time chewing on her nipples. She moaned as his attentions stimulated her and her body melted in his embrace. She was transported into a state from which she was aware only of the increasingly powerful sensations he was evoking from her sensitive erotic areas. Then suddenly he struck into her depths, spilling his seed as he permitted himself a single harsh cry. Diuane wrapped her legs around his hips and joined him in climax, with a mewling wail as her release shook her. Slick with sweat, the two lay interlocked until Nooj rolled away from the limp figure of the woman.

"So you survived?" He asked with complete seriousness. "I was worried for a moment."

"Yes, Captain, I survived. But I want a few days off before I take you on again." She was still shaking from the aftermath. It was unusual for her to respond so intensely to a customer.

"You're a brave one. I'll leave you a bonus - and the promise of at least a week before I ask for you again."

She propped herself on her elbow and watched him dress. "I think you like to hurt people, don't you?"

He stared at her as he tied the cords at the neck of his shirt. A surprised note coloring his voice, he answered, "Yes. Of course."

Oct 26, 200551812911


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The Blood Avengers were unwinding for the night in their rough camp at the end of the Old Highway. It was situated in a cul-de-sac shielded from above by the shelving of rock ledges and sporting an easily defensible narrow opening. Of course, were they to be trapped in this place, there was no back door to escape and they would be slaughtered. Nooj tried to convince himself he had not taken that into consideration when he directed the camp be established.

There were ten of them comprising this squadron, eight men and two women, all experienced and skilled at the sort of guerilla warfare the group waged. They were charged with putting out fires before they could spread or at least containing them until a larger force could be assembled. In this they had been remarkably successful. In the four months they had been operational, they had wiped out numerous roving gangs of criminals and dozens of clusters of fiends.

"Hingis, how's that shoulder? Any infection showing yet?" The Captain was making his evening rounds, checking on the fitness of his team, making sure they were as capable as he could manage. There were only two persons who had the gift of healing and they must husband their magic for major emergencies so most of the minor wounds were treated with potions. Since these were running low and would need to be replenished soon, care was advisable.

They had been fortunate in that none of their missions so far had entailed many or particularly fierce foes. Most of the problems had dealt with bandits and other out-laws who were easily dispatched by trained Crusaders. Even those bands had vanished since Nooj had staked down one of the latest miscreants in the middle of the road and left him as an example of what those who broke the law could expect. It was not an image designed to promote sound sleep in criminal lairs.

The Captain had already decided to move to a spot along the main Highway, a place hidden in the defile which ran alongside the road. He thought making camp about half-way to the travel agency on the road to Luca would be convenient and productive since any commercial enterprise tended to draw thieves like ants to sugar. He had been considering the new location for some time so when he had been told only today by his scouts that they could find no more packs of scoundrels in the vicinity, he thought it would now be appropriate to carry the battle to the enemy.

The party of ten had coalesced better than he had expected. Now, as he listened to their lazy chattering around the fire, he forgave them for the extravagant choice of a name and was glad they were so compatible ... and so obedient. If he had to command a squadron, he would prefer it to be a complaisant one which did not greatly infringe on his own private objectives nor demand much of his attention.

"Don't stand up, I just want to talk to you about what we're going to do next." Nooj squatted on a convenient log and gathered his followers with a look. "You can relax the rest of the evening, but pack your equipment before you go to sleep. Only one sentry tonight. This area is clean. Early in the morning, we break camp and head up the Highway. We're going to set up in a spot I know and then I'll tell you what I have in mind." He raised an eyebrow as a signal he would entertain questions. This was a common ritual.

Epitar was the youngest and most eager. "Sir, are we going to get guns? You know, the machina ones?"

"Where did you hear a rumor like that?" Nooj knew quite well the Crusaders were beginning to adopt the use of machina due to the pernicious influence of the Al Bhed, but he wanted to see how wide-spread the knowledge was.

"I heard 'em talking about it last time I took a message back to the main camp. They said pretty soon all us would get 'em." His words tumbled over themselves in his excitement.

"I don't think guns or any other machina would be of much help to us. We do our fighting by stealth, not by marching up on a crowd and killing them from a distance. You can't cut a throat with a gun."

"B-but, they sure would be handy on fiends." Menude interjected.

Nooj frowned, "Guns are not compatible with the history and purpose of the Crusaders. They may be useful on rare occasions but our swords and daggers are what define us. You all know I am no Yevonite however I think they are on the right of it where machina are concerned. We become less human when we permit them into our lives. I would feel myself less a man if I slaughtered my enemy without looking into his eyes. Where's the courage in that?"

"It would be a hell of a lot safer." Totillion added her husky voice to the discussion.

"If you're hunting safety, the Crusaders is no place for you. Especially not this squad. You want out?"

"No, sir. Certainly not, sir. Just thinking out loud."

"Inappropriate thinking, Lieutenant. Does anyone else have any questions or problems?" He tried to look as approachable as he could. When no one else spoke up, he sprang from his seat and strode off into the brush, announcing he was on his way to bed.

Nooj did not like to sleep near others; he was restless in the night and sometimes rose to prowl like an uneasy cat. Solitary in all his habits, he was adamant about preserving the sole sliver of privacy afforded him in a rough camp. This particular night he was troubled by the subject of machina weapons which the group had raised. He had observed the stealthy infiltration of the Al Bhed into the inner circles of the Crusader commandants and wondered about the reason for such tolerance. Could it really be that this elite force was to be armed with the shameful weapons of cowards? It was a problem which could become central to his decisions. If they were to use firearms then he could no longer count on finding an honorable death in this service. When they returned to the main camp, he would have to investigate more carefully and make sure the integrity of the branch he had joined would remain intact.

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Shortly after dawn the ten were on their way. Since they traveled lightly, they made good time up to the twisting Highway past the half-ruined gates and onward.

"Look carefully now. I found a path down to the lower level when I was on a scouting mission." Nooj waved them to a stop shortly after they had made the turn onto the section of the road which ran along a ridge. "There should be a ... Ah! Here it is; follow me."

He pushed his way through waist high brush and pointed down a narrow path, barely discernible through the thick grass. "We will find an old trail at the bottom and a good place to make camp about a day's march from the Travel Agency. It will take us a day or maybe a little longer to get there, depending on what we encounter. On the way, keep alert for any signs of bandits or other outlaws. I intend to clean out this place completely." He set a brisk pace down the steep way.

Clutching the stems of varying weeds to keep from sliding down on their rears, the others followed like a clutch of fresh-hatched ducklings, their eyes scanning the area when they were not fixed on the obstacles at their feet. They wondered why they were being led into such a desolate, deserted terrain. It was not likely gangs of criminals would bother to attack armed Crusaders and it was equally dubious that wealthy travelers would use this rough trail when there was a perfectly good and well maintained road so close by.

The truth was, Nooj was growing bored. Sitting around with a covey of Warriors waiting for something to happen did not suit his temperament. So he had decided to exceed his mandate and actively provoke attacks or, that failing, seek out the hidden camps of thieves and slaughter them in situ. He had not yet informed his followers of that choice although he planned to break it to them when they made camp for the night.

Trekking along the faint path at the bottom of the defile was hard going. Never a real thoroughfare, the trail had been little used of late and had degenerated into a barely visible, heavily over-grown way meandering along the lowland. Fallen tree limbs and scattered rocks made footing unreliable and the dense underbrush could hide a hundred snares or menaces. Shielded from any breeze by the high walls of the canyon they threaded, the group found themselves sweating, dusty and panting before they had gone even half the distance Nooj had indicated. Any unshielded skin was quickly scratched and irritated by the dried foliage of the scrubby plants.

"Why do we have to go down here?" Byllt complained under his breath. "If we're going to Luca, we could have used the road."

"Shut up, we're not going to Luca. We're going to B-Bevelle." Menude snarled.

"What makes you think that? This's the road to Luca."

"Naw, it's to B-Bevelle." Menude insisted.

"Who the hell taught you geography"

Squab had heard the muttered argument and had come up behind them before they realized it. "It makes no difference where we're going. We follow our Captain. Has he ever been wrong?"

Byllt was still combative. "I dunno. I heard some weird stuff about him b-back at camp." He had a cruel streak at times and mockery came easily to him.

"What kinda weird stuff?" Lamistol had joined the clump of soldiers.

"Oh, just stuff about what he likes to do." Byllt was beginning to realize he had made a mistake in his choice of subject matter. Idle chatter about the Captain was not encouraged.

Lamistol was not deterred; she was not the one who had brought it up. She heaved aside a small log in her path and panted, "What does he like to do?"

"Oh, things with women ... and men."

With that comment hovering in the heavy air, the conversation died and the group drifted apart, not meeting one another's eyes.

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They had taken a break at the middle of the day to shelter from the sun which bore directly down and made the progress through the waist-high weeds even more of a burden. Once on the move again, they encountered the only foes they were to meet during the day's march. A contingent of fiends had broken from cover right under their feet and rushed them with both magic and physical onslaughts. Nooj, welcoming the opportunity to exercise his upper body, swung the heavy sword he favored with remarkable effect, eviscerating and disassembling with powerful blows. The others took part with equal enthusiasm and made short work of the monsters. When they paused, panting from the exertion in the heat, irrepressible grins transfigured most of the faces. This was the job of Warriors, not marching, not gossiping. They pressed onward with renewed energy.

At length, as the late afternoon shadows began to cast their spindly fingers across the landscape and they could see the shapes of the surrounding rock formations more clearly and realized they were approaching the far end of the first canyon, Nooj pointed to a grove of trees a few hundred yards away. "We'll make camp for the night there. You'll find a stream and a meadow. It's a good place to stop and the path up to the road is near. We've made good time, better than I had hoped and we're not all that far from the Travel Agency. We can replenish our supplies tomorrow. Go on and get settled. When the sun is down, I want to talk to you about what we do next." He led the way with long strides, leaving the other nine to follow as best they could.

When they caught up with him, it was to find him standing by a fire-pit, coolly wiping the blood stains from his sword blade with a wad of dried grass.

"There were some people already camping here but they decided to find other accommodations." He explained carefully.

"Now, they'll know we're here!" Menude exploded.

"I hadn't planned to keep it a secret," Nooj said. "If they want to come to us, so much the better. It'll save us the effort of hunting them down."

"B-but, they'll run away and won't come b-back as long as we're here."

"Not until they've tested us to see if we're serious. Don't worry about it. They would have seen our fire and known about us even if I hadn't surprised them. Anyway, they don't know we're the law yet and we have one fewer whole man to deal with." He pointed with his weapon to the hand still attached to its forearm lying in the grass. None of them had noticed it until now.

"How many were there?" Squab was the practical one.

"Just two. But if you look around, you'll see there must have been a sizable crew staying here. They may be back but I doubt it. Go on, check it out." Nooj stretched and smiled his rare smile. "I'm going down to the creek to take a bath."

The area was as good a place to pitch camp as Nooj had said. The Blood Avengers found the smooth open glade and the clear stream as well as the ample shade a welcome facsimile of paradise after the long day in the heat and dust. They lost no time in enjoying the comforts available. So it was a relaxed, refreshed and unusually contented team Nooj faced when he stood before them in the dancing crimson light.

"You have known from the beginning that our task was to provide a rapid response to any small troubles arising anywhere within our purview. We have been largely successful in ridding the stretch of road between Moonflow and Djose from roaming lordless men and such vermin. We have done much the same for the byways from the Mushroom Rock Road to the beginning of Mi'ihen Highway. In only a few months, it would seem our mission is complete. I now propose that rather than return to the main camp and boast our success, we take the initiative. We are currently encamped below the busiest thoroughfare on the planet; there must be many gangs of criminals plying their trade in this area. I propose we seek them out and destroy them rather than wait for them to make themselves visible. If, in the performance of these duties, we meet other menaces – such as fiends, renegade priests or ... Sin spawn – we can deal with them as we are so inclined." He paused, expecting no disagreement.

Totillion was the first to raise an objection. "Sir, that is not our commission. Shouldn't we go back to Major Ciele, get our rewards and ask for a clarification first?"

"Yes, will this sort of disobedience put our promotions and bounties in jeopardy ... sir?" Byllt hastily tacked on the honorific.

Even Squab was dubious. "Sir, are you sure this is wise? It might be better to check in first. Things are pretty calm, like you said, and we have the time."

Nooj looked around at the nine with a sneer. "You are sworn to serve under my command. I am not asking for your opinions or your votes, only your obedience. I have told you what we shall do for the coming weeks and it is your task to follow my orders. Or would you rather be recognized as sniveling cowardly traitors interested only in what you can get for your personal benefit?" He stopped, knowing at once he had made a grave error.

The group stared miserably into the fire. There seemed nothing more to say. They had not expected to be slapped down so brutally and were humiliated by the reproach from the man they revered as their mentor and guide. Squab's cheeks were flaming more than his relative proximity to the heat could account for.

"I should not have said that. You did not deserve those words." The voice of their leader was low, almost a whisper. "You are fine and brave Warriors, every one of you, and I am fortunate to have such at my command. Now, I ask you to trust me in this matter. ... I have given it long thought and it is not an breaking of our original charter. We were taxed to provide security in a way a larger, less agile group could not. How better to do that than by preemptive attacks on our obvious enemy? In this we shall be fulfilling the true purpose of our commission, that of making the roads safe for honest travelers. At the same time, we shall be honing our skills for our next encounter with Sin." Nooj paused, his eyes lowered in apparent humility.

Gratified at having an honorable opportunity to repair the breach, Squab sprang to his feet, embracing the Captain. "You have my hand and my allegiance, sir. I am your man!"

One by one, with overwhelming relief, the others pledged their faith to the team and its leader. Nooj accepted them with graceful gratitude. When all had made their protestations of loyalty, he spoke again. "I repeat my appreciation for the caliber of officer I have before me. You may all be assured I shall speak on behalf of your promotions in rank when we return to main camp. You may all rest now. I will take the first watch. We have a great deal to do in the morning. If you are all agreeable, this will be our permanent camp until we have finished housecleaning in this vicinity."

The prospect of some weeks in so pleasant a place was greatly cheering to the little band of Crusaders as was the feeling of having escaped something ominous. They went off to their chosen sleeping places reassured and proud, believing they served under the best, most compassionate leader in the Spiran armed forces. Or so they kept telling themselves.

Nooj leaned against a convenient tree where he could see all approaches to the enclave and settled himself to think. He was not satisfied by his handling of the mini-rebellion. It should not have been permitted to occur. His control both of himself and his subordinates was all of a piece. If a single fragment shifted, the entire edifice was likely to fracture. Thus, he was careful to keep a tight rein on his tongue as well as his actions and the recent outburst had shocked him quite as much as his victims. He chided himself for his careless arrogance, refusing to excuse himself on the grounds of his relative inexperience. He was a quick learner and had no doubt of his eventual success in even this unwelcome office. A realist, he knew he would be positioned in a leadership role whether he chose it or not, so he resolved to be more careful and make the unwelcome duty as bearable as possible.

That resolved, he freed his mind to wander. Kaith came to him then in a cloud of fragrance, her presence nearly tangible and he was seized with a longing for her which forced a soft groan from his lips. He turned aside into the bushes and furtively, almost shamefully, sent her spirit in the only way he could.

Oct 30, 200551812910


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Leaving the others behind to attend to the myriad details of setting up a long-term camp, Nooj led Lieutenant Ferata toward the north and the path up to the Mi'ihen High Road. It was nearly a half-day's walk and the Captain had warned the remainder of his squad not to expect him back much before twilight. He was hungry for solitude and intended to take advantage of the opportunity.

The two men walked for some distance along the bottom of the gulch which ran parallel to the road on the surface high above them. They could see the occasional profile of a traveler passing on the thoroughfare unaware of any activity on the lower level. It was this proximity to commercial traffic which made the canyon such a desirable location for lurking bandits and others who preyed on the generally helpless businesspeople who serviced the web of Travel Agencies and shops. There were a few places along the way by which one could move from the upper to the lower levels, from the wilderness to the metaled highway. Nooj was directing Ferata toward one of these.

The means by which one returned to the Highway was not a conventional trail. It was a steep staircase of narrow ledges, affording foot holds at reasonably narrow distances. It imposed no impediment on an athletic young officer but would never appear as a viable pathway to any who did not understand its function. Nooj traced the winding pattern for Ferata and, satisfied the man had the route fixed in his eye, patted him on the back and made to turn away.

"I'll trust your Healer's judgment to buy what we need. Tell Rin to send the bill to Major Ciele; the Crusaders have established accounts at the Travel Agencies, so use your identification as cash. I'm going to scout around a while before I go back so don't expect to find me at camp when you get there." He took a few steps. "Oh, be sure to mark the place you come out on the Highway. Otherwise, you'll probably never find this path again." With a quick wave, he disappeared into the foliage at the base of the cliff.

Nooj hungered for this time alone. Those early days in the Crusaders when he had acted as a solitary scout had been some of the most satisfying of his life. While carefully surveying for various possible hiding places and poking gingerly into shallow caves, he had been able to set aside for a little time the memories which walked with him. He had been able to concentrate wholly on the signs of dangerous foes to the exclusion of the oppressive guilt which was his eternal companion. He had felt, oddly enough, his real age when he crept like a ghost down a ravine and marked the position of the enemy. On this beautiful day, he intended to recapture some of that remembered freedom.

His sensitive nose caught the faint smell of ashes smothered by water and he stood perfectly still like a cautious animal, looking fixedly in the direction from which the odor came. Consciously willing himself to blend into the landscape, he began to inch toward the tree line before him. After a few minutes, he saw a suggestion of yellow amongst the green of the foliage and paused to take his bearings. He reached for his sword, assuming he would shortly close with the figures he could now hear moving in the brush. With a muttered curse, he realized he had neglected to bring the heavy blade with him. He had not thought of doing any scouting when he left the camp and had armed himself only with his dagger. Well, it would have to do. He could handle a couple of straggling bandits with no trouble.

Pre-occupied with the search for his sword, Nooj had not noticed the single man creeping up on him as he passed under the cover of the grove and to the edge of the clearing ahead. He froze by a crooked, half-dead trunk and watched the two roughly clad men scraping over the ashes of their camp-fire. That was when he felt a sharp edge at his throat and heard a hoarse snarl at his ear.

Reflexively, Nooj grasped the wrist of the hand holding the knife and, with a powerful twist, turned it so that the point was aimed at the one gripping it. It took only a single smooth push to drive the point into that soft area just above the notch of the collar-bone. The rattling gasp and the threshing fall of the would-be assassin drew the immediate attention of the others in the glade. To his surprise and dismay, Nooj saw there were not two but three. Even three would not have been a problem had he his sword, but under the circumstances, he would be lucky to escape with his hide intact. He glanced around for a way to escape only to discover he was trapped with the three using rudimentary tactics and coming at him from three points at once.

In order to protect himself from at least one direction, he settled his shoulders firmly against the tree and prepared to yield his life at as high a cost as he could exact. As the first opponent came within arm's reach, Nooj slashed out and by impossibly good fortune caught the man in the soft part of his belly, just above the pubic bone. There was a sudden reek of feces as the bowels came rushing into the wide upward cut and the horrified victim dropped his weapon and grabbed for his entrails, his high pitched wailing stopping his companions in their tracks. The battle so far had lasted only seconds and, now with two down, Nooj was feeling more confident. He had narrowed the odds nicely already and saw no reason he should not return to camp with four kills to his credit.

The swift removal of their accomplices had made the remaining two bandits more cautious. They weaved, circling their foe, keeping their knives ever in motion and their eyes sharp for an opening. Exchanging surreptitious glances, they signaled a strategy which they had used in other battles. They moved directly opposite one another so that Nooj could not watch them both, then upon a nod ran simultaneously at their target.

Nooj, who had seen what they intended, responded as best he could – taking the charge of one whilst turning out of the path of the other. He slid his long dagger into the flesh just under the rib cage, slicing upward into the sanctuary of the heart. This was the classic blow, the misericordia, the one which dispatched a man without delay. And, as expected, the recipient of the stroke fell immediately and did not move again. At the same time as he wrenched his weapon free of the body, Nooj felt himself held tight with his left arm grown numb and useless. Turning his head, he found himself face to face with the final enemy, his nostrils filled with the foul breath of the man.

He did not wait to see why he could not move from his position against the tree but, with a swinging blow, pierced the bandit's temple with his blade. As he held his last foe's body upright with the hilt of the dagger, he watched the light flicker out in the man's eyes and knew he had won – improbably, but he had won. A small flame of disappointment flared in his mind. This might have been his trysting place with Death. As quickly as the thought occurred, it was extinguished. These were not the ones to kill Nooj the Undying. They were too small, too ignoble.

At last he had leisure to assess what damage he had taken. The cause of his immobility was quickly apparent. The last man had impaled his left arm with a short pike which had passed through the biceps and on across the chest, from the feel of it, being barely deflected by the ribs on that side, leaving him pinned like an insect in a display case. He rather thought one or more of the ribs involved had been cracked. It was only with some effort he managed to lever the pike from its purchase in the tree trunk which it had penetrated more deeply than might have been expected.

When he had freed himself and tried to move away from the tree, he was surprised to discover his legs were unwilling to support him. Helplessly, he slid down the rough bark until he was sitting at the base propped against the trunk trying to keep his grasp on consciousness. The arm still would not respond to his orders and he was dimly aware of the hot seepage of what had to be blood down his side.

Carefully laying his stained dagger across his thigh, he slowly reached his right hand to his left arm. The air was as sticky and resistant as isinglass and he thought he would never reach his objective. With what seemed infinite slowness, he touched the injured limb. Even the light pressure of his fingers nearly made him faint. Reluctantly, he turned his eyes to look at the wound into which his hand had sunk. The muscle was ripped and mangled and the bone exposed, shockingly white in the crimson wash of blood rushing from the torn vessels. He could feel his life draining as he watched. No! He would not die at the hand of an unknown common bandit. He was Nooj the Undying and was destined for better than this. Using his dagger, he clumsily slit his sleeve to form a tourniquet to bind up his arm. With only one hand the bandaging was difficult and he had to try several times to get it to stay in place. He tightened the improvised tie by winding the hilt of the dagger in its knot, tucking the end so that it was secured even when he could no longer hold it.

That done, he finally let himself slip into unconsciousness for a while. When he opened his eyes again he realized he must make some effort to save himself lest he be discovered by others of the bands of bandits he was sure infested this area. Even the assault of small animals could easily dispatch him in his current state. The shock of his injury was wearing off and he was pounded with rhythmic blows of pain as if a great maul was beating cadence on his arm and side. It took him a few minutes to realize the throbbing was in sequence with his heart beat and to stop the pain would be to stop his heart as well. It was only when he caught himself actually pondering the best way to do this that he became aware that not only his limbs but his thoughts were moving with sloth-like speed, sundered from reality. Suddenly it struck him the problem was not entirely due to the wound, severe as it was; he should be strong enough even with the loss of blood to overcome the lassitude he was feeling. No, the blade must have been envenomed and he had no antidote to counteract the poison. It was becoming obvious he must find help and quickly.

Nooj took a last look at the four corpses piled around him and, using the tree as a crutch, pulled himself to his feet and began to stumble shakily in the direction of the Highway. The bleeding had slowed and the tooth grinding agony kept him awake. After what seemed hours, he came to the first of the ledges which made up the precipitous staircase and collapsed on the moss, leaning back against the rocky wall of the canyon.

Bracing himself on his right elbow, he looked despairingly up at the edge of the road high above. The shelving steps which formed the only way to that sanctuary presented an impossible obstacle to a man weakened as he was. With a hopeless groan, he lowered his head again, letting it droop to the cool dampness of the second ledge. The soothing feel of the greenery and the haziness of his vision proved to him he had become feverish and would only continue to falter. A potion would have given him the strength to make it to the top but he knew he did not have even a single one. He had left the last of their scanty supply with his squad that morning, not expecting to need any medication on his day of recreation. That made yet another error in this disastrous day – any of which might easily prove fatal. The combination of them all? ... If he was to save himself he must make the effort immediately. He could delay no longer; rest would be of no help. If he refused to consent to ending his journey here and soon, he must force his failing body up the steep path.

If a universe of endless trial existed, it must be something like this. Drag a knee up to rest on a slippery stone, lever the other knee up beside the first, clutch the brambly growth on the edge to keep from losing one's balance and falling back, try not to hit the bandaged arm against anything – including one's own blood-caked side. Try to ignore the parching thirst and the black specks swirling about one's vision, stop, breathe, repeat. Forever.

"Captain!" Nooj heard the call and knew he was tumbling into delirium. He imagined a lithe figure leaping down the ledges calling to him. Resolved not to be distracted by fantasies, he renewed his grip on the rank weeds in preparation for another lurch forward. He did not bother to try to peer past the hair sweat-glued across his eyes, knowing there was no one to rescue him save himself.

When the hand of Lieutenant Ferata closed on his left shoulder, Nooj had barely the strength to scream as the searing blaze of the pain licked at his arm and almost swept him down the stony staircase. It was only when he felt a potion being forced past his clenched teeth he accepted the apparition before him as real. Ferata crouched down, inspecting the awkward bandage around the wounded limb and began muttering a spell under his breath.

"Stop! Don't waste your magic," Nooj gasped faintly, pushing the other man away.

"Shut up!" Ferata snarled absently, his attention centered on the slow closing of the gaping tear. He bent down for a more detailed look at the damage and for the first time noticed the discolored streaks radiating from the center of the area. Immediately uncorking a vial of antidote, he sent it chasing the potion down the injured man's throat. In his Healer mode, he was the authority and he was well aware of that fact. "Good thing I was delayed by those Al Bhed. How much blood have you lost?"

Nooj grimaced. He was not fond of being in the position of patient, having to answer questions instead of posing them. "Don't know. A lot, I think." He paused for a short while then, realizing he would have to confess, went on. "I'm weak and can't make it much further."

"Sure you can. I'll help. We'll get you back to Rin's and tuck you in for a good night's sleep and you'll be right as rain in the morning."

Why did all medical persons talk like that? Nooj hated the falsely encouraging tones and the inappropriate use of the plural which seemed to settle on a being's tongue once he trained as a Healer. However, he was in no position to reject the help so cheerfully offered.

Ferata, unaware of the effect he was having on his superior officer, continued. "There're some Al Bhed surgeons staying at the Travel Agency. I'll bet they have some new techniques to use in cases like this. Look now, your arm is just about closed up; can you bend it? Make a muscle, c'mon." His only response was a snarling hiss. "Well, that can wait 'til we get to the Agency."

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Nooj squirmed uncomfortably on the mattress. His injuries had been cleaned and closed by the joint efforts of Ferata and two sleek Al Bhed Healers who also claimed to be surgeons. Even the cracked ribs were intact again. As a result of their combined skills, he was no longer in any physical pain and was confined to bed only because healing wounds was one thing, replacing lost blood was quite another. So it was not his body which kept him from his sleep but his mind. Acute chagrin was the reason he tossed and could not compose himself to rest.

He had walked blithely into dangerous territory armed only with a dagger. In his arrogant certainty he had taken for granted he could adequately defend not only himself but a second man for whose safety he was responsible. The carelessness of parading off into the wilderness with no potions or other means of treating accidents or injuries was equally improvident. What if he had stumbled over a fiend with the power to paralyze? He might be lying there yet, being consumed in small mouthfuls, helpless to resist. And to cap that by blundering into a nest of thieves without taking the precaution of counting the enemy and planning a strategy for retreat ... !

The nearly unbearable humiliation of having to be rescued by one of his own underlings was as agonizing as acid flowing under the eyelids. He threshed miserably about at the memory. The images poured in with such potency that he relived every bitter moment. How he had been forced to rely on Ferata's arm to help him crawl up the last of the shelving steps and onto the highway. How he had no choice but to lie waiting on the verge while the younger man returned to the Travel Agency for a conveyance and more help. The ride to the Agency as an invalid while being gleefully examined by professional Healers. Bah!

The worst of it all was the way he had cried out in pain when Ferata had touched him. At the recollection, his face burned in the darkness. Cried out, no – he flagellated himself - he had shrieked like a child, his stoicism deserting him. He had been surprised, he reassured himself; he had not expected the pressure on the injured arm. No matter, he could not bear it any longer and yet he could not stop the thread replaying behind his tightly closed eyes. One of his squad had heard him scream hysterically.

And now, Ferata had gone back to the Blood Avenger camp to tell the other eight of his shame. They were doubtless joking at the absurdity of his behavior even now. How could he ever expect to regain their unquestioning obedience after this display of incompetence? How could he expect to be followed when he had shown he was subject to pain and injury? That he was not indifferent to ... to what? Weakness had never been permitted to surface in his dealings with subordinates and now there was this ... It could not be hidden and he had no practice in coping with such indignities. He could no longer lie there dreading what was to come. He must face his failure both as a leader and a man on his feet like the Warrior he was. He hurled himself from his couch and fell sprawling on the floor as vertigo overcame him. He was still dizzy from blood loss and his balance remained uncertain. The sound of the crash served to summon the two Al Bhed who had been keeping watch just outside. With brusque efficiency, they hauled the larger man protesting and struggling back onto bed and impatiently cast Sleep upon him before they tucked him in like a monstrous child.

"Damn Spirans, they don't have any brains," muttered the older Healer under his breath. "No wonder they need us to prop them up."

"Will he be all right now?" asked the younger.

"He'll sleep; I don't know about how all right. He's tough but Crusaders are peculiar. Come on now, let's get some rest ourselves." He pulled the door closed behind them.

"What's next?"

His senior looked up under his brows, the swirling green pupils merry. "I had it in mind to ask you to go back with our patient and embed yourself as a sort of resident Healer in his squad."

"And why do you think he'd accept me as that?"

"No choice. He'll still be weak for a day or two and we can insist on keeping him here, by force if necessary. If I read him correctly, he'll do what he has to in order to avoid that, so we make your attendance a condition of letting him go and ..." He spread his hands in a deal-closing gesture.

The younger Al Bhed grinned. "Well, I'm willing. So we'll see."

Nov 6, 20055181299


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The name of the Al Bhed was Aquelev, as hard for Spirans to pronounce as his presence in their midst was to understand. He had appeared unannounced amongst them three days ago acting as a sort of ambulatory crutch for their Captain who was recovering from extensive blood loss. Even though Nooj was recovered – at least physically, the Healer had stayed, the beneficiary of some arrangement worked out at the Travel Agency. He was a useful creature who had mastered the white magic of tradition as well as being a more than efficient organizer and mechanic. Not that the Crusaders had a use for mechanics, not at this time, but the oddity of an Al Bhed who could use magic was intriguing to them all. It was also helpful that he had a goodly store of magic reserves saved in his person and was able to supplement the less extensive powers of Ferata and Lamistol. Squab had his suspicions of the entire affair and Nooj simply ignored the man.

The Nooj who had come back to the camp, half-supported on the arm of the Al Bhed was only slowly again becoming the man who had walked down the canyon three days before, anticipating a brisk stroll as an exercise to expend excess energy and revel in the solitude he cherished. He had returned from his medically dictated sojourn at the Travel Agency prickly, brooding and wary of every glance and dubious of every overheard word. He had grown very thin, losing far more flesh than was normal for so few days and was pale, his golden skin gone sallow and his eyes sunken. Some of the team wondered if he was still affected by lingering remnants of poison.

The poison was within his spirit. He was worried that a tale of his failure to save himself had been bruited about the camp and had diminished his authority as well as the respect in which his followers had always held him. Since he had put his extraordinary struggle with four enemies behind him and had not mentioned the feat to anyone, his subordinates were unaware of his heroic victory before he had fallen prey to the poisoned blade which had wounded him. It was not the usual thing for an unaccompanied man to slay four healthy criminals with nothing more than a dagger. But great stories lie still-born until someone tells them while legends of clay feet are swift to be spread and believed.

Rin had listened to some of the feverish ravings when Nooj had first been brought into the Travel Agency and had sent a small delegation out to see what had happened. They had surveyed the scene, reconstructed the battle and buried the dead before reporting to their employer who whistled under his breath and vowed not to irritate the Captain should he ever see him again. But, given the distance between the camp and the Agency, no word of the true adventure which had so gravely wounded their leader had reached the members of the squad, except for Aquelev who had his own ways of receiving news.

The Al Bhed sat a little apart from the others around the camp fire. He was very aware of the uneasiness of the men. When the leader is uncertain, the followers suffer. If this group fell apart, he would have to start over with ingratiating himself into the Crusader forces and that would mean all his careful work here would have been for no purpose. He settled himself to think. The main problem, his quick mind had already deduced, was that Nooj was feeling himself diminished because of his inability to save himself after the battle. So the solution was simple – convince him he was still worthy of the trust his superiors had placed in him. Unfortunately, the answer while blindingly obvious was not easily implemented. Aquelev traced complicated and decorative patterns in the loose soil at his feet, letting his thoughts trace the equally complicated patterns of his scheming.

At length, he had exhausted the possibilities and was left with one option. He saw no way to penetrate deeply enough into the confidence of Nooj to persuade the Captain to reconsider his doubts but he was certainly able to insert heart into the Lieutenants who drooped with confusion around him. He had used his native charm to good effect and had made himself sufficiently useful to the squad that he was well if grudgingly accepted already and his tale of a heroic but modest Warrior would be eagerly swallowed by the men, even more so because it was true. His decision taken, he rose, stretched, wrapped his cloak around him and coiled up not far from the warmth of the fire to sleep.

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A hum of barely suppressed excitement animated the camp the next morning. They were to begin the serious patrolling for signs of banditry or other troubles. Groups of three were to go out in various directions with full permission to dispose of suspicious bands and to bring any whose guilt was not immediately established back to Nooj for further questioning. However, it was not the prospect of leaving the claustrophobic confines of the area which had the spirits of the men leaping like so many exuberant golbries. It was the news which had come to the Al Bhed from the Travel Agency just after dawn.

There was a reason their Captain was behaving so oddly. He was hiding a great feat behind his customary wall of modesty. Of course, they all admitted to themselves, he had never been one to brag about his prowess but this was something special. When Aquelev had translated for them the message his companion had sent, they felt as though they saw clearly again. Who else but their own awe inspiring leader could have killed four strong men with only his dagger and while poisoned by their treachery? They looked at him with dazzled eyes and felt honored simply to share a universe he graced. Had he suggested it to them, they would have happily carved out their own hearts to lay at his feet. Thus it was with a renewed sense of purpose and confidence they prepared to set out on their missions.

Nooj watched them with some curiosity. He was beginning to emerge from the enervating fog of his own disillusion and take notice of what was happening. Maybe Ferata had not told about his weakness after all. Healers were rumored to keep the secrets of their patients private – that was the ideal. Now, instead of hunting rejection, he found himself suspicious of the sharpness of the salutes he received, the pride in the faces which confronted him.

"Lieutenant Squab, may I have a moment of your time?" He called softy.

"Yessir!" A beaming Squab clicked heels before him.

"What's going on with the men? They seem excited. Are they this eager to get back into the field?"

"Yessir. And they just heard. Why didn't you tell us, sir?"

"Tell you what?" Nooj was mystified. Had he forgotten some sort of good news in all the confusion?

"About how you killed four men by yourself. With just your dagger. You should have told us. It's a good story; one we can be proud of. I know you're not one to brag on yourself but still ..." Squab made a squinched up face to express his puzzlement.

Nooj was taken aback. The fight? He had quite honestly put the fight so far back in his mind he had forgotten it. There was no reason he should have mentioned it. It was of no significance to him; in no way did it advance his agenda. The men he had battled were simple thieves of no distinction. The true heart of the story was to Nooj that he had nearly been killed by such ignoble brutes. That was the kernel and the shame. He blushed fiercely but not for the reason Squab thought.

"Now, don't be that way, Captain." The Lieutenant spoke reassuringly, patting his leader on the arm. "We know you don't like being made much of but we just need to know about these things. It's encouraging to know we Crusaders can turn out men like you. Gives us all heart. You won't begrudge us that?"

"No, no. I just didn't think. It wasn't so much, you know. They were just bandits." Nooj stopped himself abruptly. He was making it worse, with every word adding to the legend they were building up around him. Better he should shut up. He could hear the whispered word 'Undying' from several directions and when he looked across the camp-ground, he saw the Al Bhed watching him with a sardonically raised eyebrow. Suddenly, he understood and tightened his lips before he could hurl an unaccustomed oath into the swirling pupils of the interloper.

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After the three teams had left on their missions, Nooj stood in the shade at the edge of the grove, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes fixed on the ground, thinking about his reactions the past four days.

He had indulged himself in the fallacy that his wounding had made him a failure in the eyes of those who followed him. With bitter chagrin, he recognized that as a flaw in himself not in his fellows. He was the one who could not tolerate the slightest blemish on the cheek of his self-image. His own absorption into his own myth was the cause of his spiritual malaise.

He had punished himself and thus those for whom he was responsible. All for no reason save a severely damaged vanity. Nooj shook himself like a dog emerging from a pool. It was the damned self-consciousness which betrayed him at inauspicious moments. He could never absolve himself of even imagined faults. That must change or he would continue to be unworthy of a noble death.

With an abrupt gesture, he signaled the Al Bhed to join him.

"Why did you tell them?" He asked into the swirling pupils which always distracted him. "What did you want to make happen?"

Aquelev stood a little nervously before the taller man. "What has happened. I couldn't think of any other way to get you out of your funk and thought this might do it."

There was a long silence. Nooj walked a short way into the copse and propped himself against a tree's trunk. "You took a grave chance. I might have killed you for doing such a thing."

"I didn't think you would," the other nodded. "I had this idea your dedication to your men would keep you from doing anything stupid."

"Why are you here, mechanic? It's not just to cast the odd spell and take care of our non-existent machina. What's behind all this?"

"Well, I've done pretty well healing you and the team this morning." The Al Bhed laughed lightly as he tried to think of an answer which would satisfy this Captain and not give away too much of his race's intention. "Let me just say this – one day, fairly soon, I think you and the other Crusaders will be glad to have us around. We're kinda useful, you know."

"What's going to happen, do you think, that we would need such as you? Are you one of those trying to persuade Crusaders to use firearms and other forbidden machina? You'll get no takers here."

"I'm not involved in the weapons end of the business, taydrcaagan ..."

"What did you call me?" Nooj was alert for an insult.

Aquelev cursed himself for carelessness under his breath. "It's just an affectionate term for a leader in my language. Forget it. As I was saying, I'm not in the weapons end, I'm a Healer and a surgeon. I'm here to learn more about repairing men not machina."

"And all you've had to practice on is a hole in my arm and a cracked rib or so. We are elite forces and don't get hurt all that often."

"I can always hope, can't I?" The Al Bhed grinned insolently and Nooj felt constrained to return a forced sour smile as the two men parted.

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The day had gone well. The revitalized Blood Avengers had cast their net wide and had swept in nearly half a dozen villains who would no longer prey on the honest merchants who used the Highway. They had brought two prisoners back to their leader. One was a woman who had been discovered crouched in the very back of a cave used as a shelter by one of the bands. The other was a middle-aged man who had successfully sued for his life when the gang of which he was a member had taken to its heels, leaving him behind wounded in the initial contact.

The trio which held the man brought their captive before Nooj who was standing ominously in the twilight, watching the activity with a keener interest than he had shown in some time. The prisoner whose hands were secured behind him was forced to his knees, his head shoved into the gritty dirt at the feet of the leader.

Nooj looked down at the man and felt a sudden lust rise in him. The slow return of his usual mien had also brought about the return of his normal appetites. His hand was on the hilt of his dagger before he was conscious of the move and he had to stop and asmonish himself his public actions must remain apart from those special private acts which might find less ready acceptance among his followers. So he shifted his hand from his weapon and instead nudged the man with his foot.

"Look at me. What were you doing in this area? Speak truth. I don't like liars."

The prisoner struggled to right himself and faced his judge with imploring eyes, oddly pale in his filthy face. "I'm a poor man, sir, ... I lost my family and my home to Sin. I was trying to find a place to hide until I could think of something to do. I'm hurt, sir. Your men hurt me." The snot ran down his chin as he blubbered. With his hands tied at his back, he could only rub his face on the shoulder of his coat.

Nooj surveyed him with indifferent disgust, not only for the dirt but for the inadequate and unimaginative lies. He had already seen the smear of blood on the man's arm and dismissed it as a minor flesh wound. "You're not hurt all that much and you probably deserve it. So, where was your home and how long have you been on the road."

The man mumbled and sniffed, "I've been living rough and I can't remember. It was the shock, you see." He gazed upwards, licking his dry lips, hoping to be believed. "It was the shock, made me lose my mind, my memory. I was a farmer and lost everything and the shock..." His voice trailed off in the recognition of his failure to convince. "The shock ... you know, when you lose everything – it's the shock. Your men, they hurt me. It was the shock, you see."

"Oh, shut up." Nooj was never patient with lying. This pitiful wreck of a coward aroused nothing but contempt in him. Once again the need to punish him unto death flared. This time not for the satisfaction of a hunger but for the pleasure of extinguishing so inadequate a life. "One of you, take him away. I won't soil my blade. Kill him if you want to or just leave him tied up in the bushes. The fiends will get him soon enough." He turned his attention to the other captive, ignoring the whimpering behind him – whimpering which rose to a wail and as soon ceased.

The woman was shivering, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest, flattening her breasts against her ribs. Her fair hair was tangled around her face, the dark roots sadly prominent even in the failing light. Her pale skin looked almost spectral. She wore only a light garment, torn and soiled by her enforced trip through the brambles.

Nooj walked over to her and tipped up her face so that he could see her clearly. "I recognize you. Aren't you one of the girls from the Pink Paradise? Or was it another one of the houses?" He raised an eyebrow, "What are you doing here? Run away?"

She trembled even more. She knew who was standing before her. His reputation was well known amongst those of her profession. "No, sir. I was grabbed by some men when I was on the way to the hairdressers' last month. They took me away to use me and were going to kill me." Her voice broke and she stood there sobbing not even trying to hide her face. "They were going to kill me after they had all done everything they wanted to do to me. I tried to run and they beat me. Are you going to kill me?"

"Why should I do that? I am not in the habit of killing honest working women or men. You're safe enough here. Tomorrow, I'll have one of my men take you to the Travel Agency and you can decide there what you want to do." He examined her carefully, seeing the darkness of bruises which he had not noticed before and carefully turning her around to check her condition. His nose told him she had managed to keep herself relatively clean in spite of the ill usage to which she had been put. That was a mark in her favor and he smiled into her frightened eyes.

"Sit down here beside me. The fire is about to be lit and you need to warm yourself." He drew her gently onto the log which was his usual throne in the nightly circle. "What's your name?"

"I'm called Gellal, sir." She obediently sat and slyly slid over until her hips were pressing his. "Would you?" Under cover of the darkness, she inched her hand onto his thigh and squirmed her touch toward his groin.

Nooj laughed lightly and moved her questing fingers. He had been celibate since the beginning of the campaign and was ravenous for the satisfaction of that particular appetite. It was no secret to him that the two females under his command were sharing their sleeping arrangements with a changing roster of the males but he was not minded to pull rank by indulging in an affair with a subordinate. He had known from the moment he set eyes on the woman, Gellal, he would probably lie with her but he had always preferred to be the aggressor. He looked at her more critically in the light of the fire. With a little washing, she would not be bad at all and she was a professional. He had little time for amateurs.

"Patience. I want to hear what my squad has been up to." He leaned forward giving his full attention to the reports being offered. When that was finished, the others wanted to question him about the fight and its outcome. With unaccustomed amiability, Nooj answered their questions, giving them the details to flesh out their images of his deeds. The Blood Avengers were excited and thrilled by the implied trust and promptly proceeded to do exactly what their leader had feared. They elaborated and embroidered until the participants would have been hard-pressed to recognize themselves in the saga thus formed.

With a sigh, Nooj stood up, pulling Gellal along with him. "Come on; they'll be sitting here half the night."

Only the Al Bhed watched the two stroll away from the fire. Aquelev had kept a steady eye on the pair and had observed with pride – some of it deserved – the results of his plan. Nooj seemed nearer the usual confident and aggressive man his followers had described and the group would continue. Like a successful parasite, the mechanic/surgeon had every reason to preserve his host.

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"Here," Nooj tossed a scrap of cloth to the woman following him. "Go down to the stream and wash yourself. The water's cold but I'll warm you after."

When she had obeyed and crept back to where he waited, she found he had spread a sleeping bag and a cloak under the low trees near the wall of the canyon. He held the covers open for her and she slipped off her rag of a dress and crept in beside him, finding his bare skin amazingly warm against her. He held her close and she could feel his thinness. The bones were too prominent under her hands but she quickly forgot that as she drew as close to him as she could. Gradually, her shivering stopped and she breathed in the amber scent of his body and felt his firmness press against her.

"Do you?" she asked tentatively.

"In a little while. Get warm first. You've had a bad time." He wrapped her in the heat of his breath captured within the confines of the sleeping bag. "You feel like an ice spirit."

She slowly let herself uncoil in the luxury of softness and warmth. "You're not like what they say you are." It was only the almost hypnotic sense of safety and the lulling comfort of his arms that let the words escape and she at once hushed, wanting to call them back.

He only laughed a little, far back in his throat. "I am what I need to be. Right now, I'm your heater. Sleep if you like." He made no move to possess her.

"Don't you want me to ... you know?" She put a timid hand on him, finding him ready but controlled. "I want to."

"There's no rush. We have all night." He murmured but her tongue was already drawing lines down his belly and he abandoned himself to her talents with a deep groan of pleasure.

Nov 13, 200551812911


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Now that some Al Bhed have entered this story, there will be various communications between them – both written and verbal. It must be understood when they are speaking to one another, outside the presence of non Al Bhed, they are speaking in their own language. I do not intend to supply the words in their language because it is an irritant and a nuisance to have to translate them into Al Bhed and back into English.

**Chapter Six**

The secret truth about warfare (which is not told the hot-blooded youth who are seduced into signing away a great chunk of their futures) is that it is boring. Those few minutes of heart-pounding excitement are the exception. By far the larger part of a soldier's time is spend waiting, polishing and oiling equipment, lying around encampments dreaming about better times before the lure of the uniform and the promise of glory had whispered its sweet enticements. It is one thing to hold one's head high, anticipating the heroic laying down of one's life and quite another to find the laying down consists of sleeping when one is not digging latrines. Even so brassily named and manned a squadron as the Blood Avengers was subject to the immutable law of the military: Hurry up and Wait.

Perhaps it was the excellence of the Warriors who made up the squad which accounted for the lack of enemies with which to deal. In a fortnight, they had scoured the territory around the approach to the Travel Agency clean of marauders until a naked woman could have made her way from the gates leading to the Mushroom Rock Road to Rin's place carrying a basket of gold coins and have remained unmolested by any danger. Even fiends had become rare to the point of extinction. For obvious reasons, safety equals boredom in the military mind. And the Crusaders were bored.

"Sir. Can we move our camp to the other side of the Travel Agency or maybe we should go back to base camp." Weymat brushed a few flies away from his face as he questioned his Captain. "There's nothing left to do here."

Nooj nodded, "I am considering both options. Just be patient; I'll decide in a day or so."

Weymat shuffled away, still fretting and joined a small clot of the others idly splashing one another at the creek side.

"Didja ask him?" Hingis asked.

"Yeah. And he said he hadn't made up his mind yet."

"You actually asked Nooj what he was planning and he didn't cut your throat?" Epitar gurgled. "I'd be scared to ask him what we're having for supper."

Totillion rasped, "He's tough but he's fair. If he doesn't think you're just bitching, he'll talk to you. And you can even argue with him. Just better have your facts in a row." She took pride in her challenges to the Captain and his grave answers to her questions.

"Well, he didn't get mad and he did tell me he was considering..." Weymat let his voice trail away as he thought. "What'd you guys think we oughta do?"

"I want to go back to base camp and get my promotion and do some serious drinking," Hingis answered at once, lying back on the grass and dangling his bare feet in the cool water.

Epitar, the youngest, rarely dared disagree with the bolder speakers, "Yeah, me too."

Totillion laughed and scooped a palmful of water at the boy. "What do you know about serious drinking and partying? You haven't even had a woman yet."

"Have too. At Rin's . Last time I had R and R." The young man blushed painfully, his face looking as though it had been rubbed with thistles.

The other three laughed kindly and Hingis clapped him on the shoulder. "That Gellal girl still there? You trying to copy the Captain?"

"No. She left and there's another one – a blonde with all those dinky braids and swirly eyes – like Aquelev. She's pretty young and she said she liked me and ..." He stopped, realizing he was on the verge of saying something profoundly stupid.

Totillion pinched his ear lobe and told him an old truth. "When the money's good, all whores fall in love. You did ok, then?"

He nodded miserably and turned over on his stomach, burying his face in his folded arms and pretending to go to sleep.

The woman muttered, "Wish they would get some guys in at the Agency. What's a girl supposed to do?"

"I'll show you." Weymat reached out for her and wrapped her in a wrestling hold and they rolled across the grass, shouting with laughter.

Across the meadow, Aquelev watched them at play. He was nearly as bored as the others, having little to occupy his time other than patching up the odd scrape or bite. The Crusaders were a discouragingly healthy crew. If his real mission had been to learn how to attend to the ailments of Spirans, it would have been a dismal failure. However, he was quite gratified at the manner in which he had been able to fit in with this squad and how easily they had grown to accept him. He had deliberately stayed away from the Agency and the presence of his confederate, not wanting to disturb the delicate balance of trust he was constructing. This did not hinder him from writing to his elder frequently nor from receiving messages as well. A carefully disguised hollow behind one of the steps up to the highway served as an adequate post box.

"Greetings, Gratti – I hope this finds you as well as it leaves me." he scribbled. "We have come to a point of stasis in the activities of the group in which I have embedded myself. We have done that which we were assigned to do and more. There are no longer any villains for us to conquer and these very physical young people are becoming restless. Nooj must make a move soon – either to lead them back to the main camp which he seems oddly reluctant to do or shift their location to another more target-rich territory. I confess he is an enigma to me. At one moment, he is cold and carelessly cruel; at another, he is patience itself. I sometimes think he is two men living in one body and switching off just to confuse me.

"Incidentally, he is dreaming, having nightmares it would appear. Twice, I have been awakened by cries from him during his sleep. Not loud. Were my hearing not so acute, I would have probably missed them. He didn't wake up either time, just tossed around for a while and went back to sleep. As far as I can tell, he hasn't had any more of those periods when he starts brooding and can't get out of it.

"I hope the woman, Gellal, managed to make her way back to the life she prefers. She was a big help with Nooj, showing up when she did. The comfort of a skilled woman tends to calm him considerably. If it is convenient, you might arrange with Rin for a regular provision of something like this for his use alone. I think it would contribute to the smooth operation of this mission. So, in our determination to advance our agenda, we become procurers.

"As per your instructions, I have made no effort to promote the use of machina in my interactions with the members of this group. Several have asked me about the fire-arms being introduced to certain elements of the Crusaders and I just fob them off by saying I have no connection to that side of our race's business. However, the curiosity is growing and unless Nooj decides to move us to another camp rather than returning to base, I can see this interest reaching a critical point fairly soon."

Aquelev paused, thought for a moment, then jotted down a few personal messages, folded and sealed the letter, and rose with a purposeful air. He thought he would take this opportunity to stroll down to the far end of the canyon and 'mail' his missive to his superior.

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While the others of the camp were amusing themselves, Nooj was brooding. He was having second thoughts about answering Weymat with such openness. Command was uncomfortable for him. He did not like having the lives of other persons as his responsibility. Solitary by both nature and choice, he would have preferred to operate alone with only his own existence to defend or relinquish but his gifts as an officer and the willingness of others to follow where he led had dictated otherwise and in a regimented world like the one he inhabited, personal preference was not acknowledged.

Then too, he admitted he was still finding it difficult to calibrate his behavior after the incident with the four bandits. The aftermath had shaken him more than even he had realized at the time. Stability was proving to be hard to come by. The woman Gellal had helped by proving to him he was able to function physically as a man in spite of his inner turmoil. He had given her a handsome gift of money to replenish her wardrobe and to stake her on her continued adventures and yet felt in her debt. He wished her well but had no desire to see her again in whatever capacity she decided to serve. The niggling need to indulge his less conventional appetite was making itself more and more demanding. He could see no immediate answer to that problem. This internal roiling was strange and unwelcome to him. He had taken pride in his self-discipline.

And he was dreaming again. After so long a period when he thought he was rid of the images of blood and mutilation which plundered his sleep, they had returned – in greater detail, with more explicit application. Why? He did not understand why the same dream came again and again, why he was always torn, mutilated in the scenario. He saw himself fighting against any number of foes, human, fiendish, sometimes even Sin itself. Then he was cut to pieces with limbs hacked away and the struggle continuing. He always woke enough to dispel the dream before he dreamt his death. Stop! He admonished himself. Dreams were simply that – dreams and of no matter in the waking world.

No, the important thing now was to come to a definite decision about the Blood Avengers. As usual, he shuddered at the idiotic name. Back to base or on to further cleansing? It was a long way back to base camp and the odds were if they returned, the squad would be dissolved and he would be saddled with another group of neophytes to train and shape and sent back out to do what was already half-finished.

The decision which had been more than a shadow in his mind took solid form and he stood, suddenly free of his uncertainty. He would tell the group at campfire tonight. In the meanwhile he meant to walk back to the site of the battle with the bandits and lay those unquiet phantoms; perhaps it would rid him of those disquieting dreams.

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When he reached the point at which he should turn to the left in order to reach the copse, Nooj was surprised to see Aquelev walking toward him.

"What are you doing here?"

The Al Bhed who had just moments before stowed his letter in the spot where Gratti knew to find it, smiled and smoothly dissembled, "I needed some exercise and this way was as good as any. Are you going anywhere in particular? If not, will you show me where this battle of yours took place?"

Reluctantly Nooj nodded. He would have preferred to be alone on his first return visit to the place he had nearly died but could think of no acceptable reason to refuse the other man's request. "It's not far from here. If it had been, I would never have made it with the poison in me."

They meandered along in silence until they came upon the little grove with four recently disturbed patches of earth among the trees.

"Wonder who buried them?" Aquelev scraped at one of the graves with the toe of his shoe. "Must have been somebody Rin sent."

"I suppose so. I haven't been back to the Agency so I never asked." Nooj was fingering the deep gash in the tree trunk where the pike had pinned him to the bole. "Not much to see here. I thought they were part of a larger band but it looks like they were by themselves. Here's their fire pit." He pointed to a circle burned in the grass, well distanced from the woods. "That's what I smelled before I ran across them."

The Healer flung himself down on the grass. "It's a lazy day today. Let's rest a little."

Nooj joined him, lying sprawled out, his head propped up on the hands clasped behind his neck. "I won't say no to that. It's been dull lately and boredom is more tiring than fighting."

For a while, they relaxed, looking up through the branches at the sky, watching the clouds drift and hearing the chirping and peeping of the small indigenous creatures who, now that the fiends were absent, had reclaimed their proper places.

"Why are you really here?" Nooj murmured softly. "No more of this nonsense you're handing out to the others."

Aquelev smiled. He had made a private wager with himself that Nooj would start prying into his motivations again at the first opportunity. "All right, but it's only part nonsense. I am curious about the way bodies work and how to fix them. But I'm more curious about you."

"Me? There's nothing about me to make an Al Bhed curious." He did not even turn his head, his voice remaining low and drowsy.

"Not many of your race are so much in love with Death and I want to know why."

"It's a private thing." Nooj gave his usual answer, not bothering to ask how his companion learned of his obsession. It was fairly common knowledge in the ranks. "Not something I talk about to strangers."

"But you discuss it extensively with your fellow Spirans? Eh?" The other laughed lightly.

"It's not something we discuss in our society." He answered with a certain stiffness. "It's personal." All at once he realized it had been a long time since he had made any effort to find his death. The ideal he had burnished for so long had grown dull and tarnished. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the sound of Aquelev's voice so he could examine this phenomenon. Had he lost his guide star, had the impetus which had propelled him all his mature life dissipated?

Tentatively, like someone poking with his tongue at a sensitive tooth, he began exploring the possibility of life. It had been so long since he had seriously thought along these paths that he found his ideas stumbling and uncertain . It was as though he had forgotten how to find the words of a language he had not spoken for so long its very grammar had become foreign to him. He was aware of the muttering of Aquelev on the edge of his mind but it was as meaningless to him as the sound of water over stones.

Nooj felt dizzy, displaced in time and location. With a hastily garbled excuse to the Al Bhed, he leapt to his feet and almost ran deeper into the forest, seeking a place where he could be alone to examine this new concept. Finding a niche in the mossy wall of the canyon, he curled up inside the hiding place and gave himself over to testing the tenets upon which he had based his life thus far.

He knew in his deepest being he was living a borrowed life, that he should by all rights have died when Sin took his parents and left him caught in the branches of an uprooted tree in the midst of the ocean. The fact he had survived this pivotal event whilst all the other inhabitants of his part of the village had perished merely confirmed his conviction he was meant to die and had cheated the universe in a shameful manner. His life was a reproach to the orderly ways of existence. He had grown to maturity believing this; it was the bedrock of his character. When had it stopped being the first thing in his mind when he woke and the last whisper of thought as he fell asleep? Had it become so ingrained a part of his being that he did not have to continually remind himself of his objective? Or had he slowly become reconciled to the rewards of living and let his desired destination become blurred and unreal?

He tried to empty his mind of the skep which had taken residence therein, buzzing and distracting him. He conjured up the vision of Nothingness and held it before him but it was a map he could no longer read. Was he still willing to die? Yes, there was no question of that. Did he still long for Death with the same intensity he had felt earlier in his life? He could not be sure. There seemed to be a number of other goals interceding between him and his former total certainty. He took each of those new obstacles and looked at it carefully, judging it against the perfection of dissolution. For the first time he could remember, there was not that unquestionable distinction he had always seen. What had happened to his strength of will? Had he become nothing but a gelding? Coherence eluded him as he chased his thoughts with an unaccustomed frenzy.

With a half-stifled moan, he leaned back against the wall of the niche and covered his face with his hands. What if he chose to live? Would it mean he would be less courageous in battle? What would others think of his craven relinquishing his often stated purpose? Would he be welcomed into the world of common men or scorned as a coward? He could not bear that – to be thought a coward. But could he hunt his death if he was not sure? Wherever he looked were questions. He was adrift on the ocean again, powerless to direct his own destiny, at the mercy of whatever tides and waves might be. He was betrayed by his own probing intelligence, his inability to compel belief where it did not exist.

He had made a choice for the squadron and now could not force a choice on himself. Without a clear direction for his own future, he did not feel he had the right to lead the nine, no - ten, who depended upon his wisdom. If he could not govern himself how could he take responsibility for the lives of the others? No, he could not return to the camp and tell them of their next move until he had again taken command of his own fate. Life or death? It had been so easy for so long. The path had been clearly marked and inevitable. He should have tended it better. Now he could see no way forward and was a flailing prisoner of his own indecision.

Exhausted by the mental conflict, Nooj rolled himself into a tighter coil and suddenly, unexpectedly fell asleep. And dreamed.

He was fighting without joy on a darkling field, swinging the heavy blade which increasingly dragged on his muscles. He had been fighting for a very long time and was covered with the effluvia of battle. It clung to his skin making him retch with disgust. He raised his left hand to wipe his face and saw there was nothing there but the shredded remnants of his shoulder. When had the arm gone? He had felt nothing. Then he realized he was lying on his side, still fighting but no longer able to stand because his left leg was reduced to a short bloody stump. He had not felt that wound either. When he tried to check if anything else had happened, he could sense only the right arm flailing at the enemy. That was all of himself he could find, just the arm and the sword. Endlessly striking. Endlessly struggling.

Nov 25, 200551812910


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Nooj woke as suddenly as he had fallen asleep. To his astonishment, he found he was shivering and the details of the dream remained uncomfortably clear in his memory. With that lingering miasma still clinging to him, he felt compelled to check his body in spite of recognizing the foolishness of the act. He was almost afraid to reach for his left arm and leg and felt ridiculous when he touched them, finding that they were whole and functional.

He sat quietly, letting his heart return to its normal rhythm, unable to shake the irrational feeling that the dream meant something. Otherwise, why was it occurring so often? True, most times he did not remember it with clarity, being only aware of a sense of loss, of futility, of struggling against Impossible odds. Well, he was no interpreter of omens but the vision had added its weight to his almost formed decision.

If he was meant to fight then he could not simultaneously try to die. The dream seemed to say to his questioning mind that to continue on his quest for Death would be to lop off parts of his capacity to wage battle well. He could not be a Warrior without his limbs and so, he thought he was being shown, he must stop deliberately and purposefully making himself unfit for the only profession which suited him. He looked at the idea, turning it around in his mind and could find no flaw. He was a Warrior, trained and superior to most others of his craft. So he would fight. He would not hold back form engaging whatever enemy he encountered but he would not woo death, would not abandon his life too readily. He felt he had found the compromise, the choice which would not do violence to his convictions thus far in life but which would permit him to survive for a while yet. He need not flee from Death but also need not pursue it so avidly. It was not the choice of a coward but that of a practical man. He would be less than honorable to waste the time and effort which had gone into his schooling thus far.

The sense of well-being which suffused him convinced him he had chosen correctly and, extricating himself from his sanctuary with an air of inner peace, he began his trek back to the camp and his acolytes.

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That night at the campfire, Nooj announced to the squadron that their leisure time was over. They would relocate the next day to a position on the other side of the Travel Agency and from there clear the upper portion of the Highroad as they had done the lower.

While some were privately disappointed at not returning to base camp, most were delighted to be doing something, anything other than sitting and waiting. None had the temerity to question their leader or to remark on his more relaxed mien.

Nooj slept well that night with no dreams.

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Aquelev was intrigued by the change he noted in Nooj after their conversation in the copse and several days later reported his observations in a message to his elder:

"Our Captain is more business-like in his attitude these days. No longer does he act like a Berserker when we engage our prey but is more like the seasoned Warrior he is. If I did not know he has not visited the Travel Agency lately, I might think he was availing himself of the amenities I am sure you have arranged to be there for him. His recent behavior is making me re-think our first assessment. He may not be a Deathseeker at all but just one of those overly enthusiastic young men who naturally gravitate to the military. If so, he is the sort I need to win over to the use of machina. If someone like him can be persuaded, it would go a long way toward swaying the junior officer corps since Nooj is much looked up to for his courage and determination. What is permissible to a career officer is not necessarily an endorsement by a Deathseeker, you know.

"I have been thinking, Gratti, would it be better to mention some of our other machina besides the weapons? I know the robot fighters will not go over with the Crusaders the way they might with some of the regular army but I was wondering if it might help to drop a few hints about a few of our more unusual gadgets, like the automated splints for broken legs, you know, things like that? Let me know what you think. Have any later models of those new prostheses been sent? They seem like a useful development. Are the latest ones fully implantable?"

With a feeling of having set another opportunity into motion, Aquelev sealed his letter and tucked it into his shirt until he should have the chance to leave it at the new message drop he had arranged with his mentor.

In the meantime, Nooj was not finding it as easy as it had seemed to change his entire philosophy and reposition himself in relation to the world. While it was true he was beginning to anticipate the possibilities of a more lengthy time of existence, there were difficulties in making so abrupt a redirection in one's habits. He had managed to restrain himself from taking extreme risks at the beginning of encounters but, if the struggle lasted longer than a few minutes or became unduly heated, his behavior tended to revert and, without conscious thought, he would hurl himself into the midst of the most fierce fighting and attack without caution or care. As a result, he had been forced to have recourse to the Al Bhed for the repair of several wounds of varying severity. His collection of scars had become impressive.

And he missed having a confidant. It would have been very helpful to talk about his experiences and decisions with someone who understood his past and could appreciate his present. Not since the death of Kaith had he known someone to whom he could unburden himself. There were now entire days in which he spoke no more than was necessary to deliver the required instructions to his crew. Silence was becoming a way of life and an unaccustomed weight. He missed his sense of destiny in ways he had not considered. If he did not intend to die, what was he aiming for? Glory? Riches? Nothing seemed of equivalent value though he kept assuring himself that he would eventually find a reason to live other than repaying the state for his education. After the first flush of certainty, he had felt empty and vacant inside like a hollowed out automaton reacting to programmed responses rather than acting out of conviction. The prospect of life was not making him happy. He found he was thinking of death more often than he had in some time which surprised and confused him. It had been his hope that all that had been settled when he made his choice. However, Death was haunting him now far more than when he had been determined to find that Quietus.

With a short huff of exasperation, he set off to find Aquelev. His own company had become obnoxious to him and he badly needed the counter-irritant of another mind.

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"How are things going for you? Are you finding everything you need to help your studies?" Nooj asked the Al Bhed when he finally located him near the path up to the Highroad.

Aquelev seemed agreeable to a talk. In fact he had been trying to arrange a conversation with the Captain since they had moved camp to the upper area. He was curious to know what had changed the man. "Your men are too healthy. All I ever get a chance to treat are flesh wounds and infected bug bites." He laughed lightly. "Are things well with you?"

"I am well and have reason to be grateful for your skills."

"Yes, I do seem to patch you up more often than most of the others. You get banged up pretty regularly."

"Point men usually get a few more injuries. I don't take unnecessary chances." His voice was oddly tentative, ending on a raised note like a question.

"You do end up in the middle of things most of the time though." Aquelev wondered where this oddly disjointed conversation was leading.

Nooj remained silent for a moment, then looking past the other's shoulder asked, "Tell me, if you will, what do your people think of death?" He had meant to lead into the subject gradually but it had burst out as though of its own volition. "I mean since you're training to spend your life putting Warriors back together, I thought you might have some ideas on the subject."

Aha, so there it was! The Al Bhed carefully considered what to say. It would not do to frighten off this wary creature now that he had it to hand. "We don't have a racial position on the matter. Since we are not Yevonites we don't hold much faith in the FarPlane and don't expect to see our lost ones there. We are pretty much left on our own as to what we believe about that sort of thing. If you want to know what I, as a person, think I'll be glad to discuss it." He paused having delicately laid the bait down.

"Yes, I'm curious. It's not something we dwell on in our training. Bad for morale and all that." He was not used to smiling but made an awkward attempt to do so.

Aquelev made himself more comfortable, leaning back against a tree bole and settling down for a long talk. "OK, I think when I die, I'm gone and will find whatever immortality I have in the memories of those I've had an effect on during my life. I'm not too concerned about death because I believe this is my only chance to feel and experience both the good and bad things available to me as a man. I try not to get killed right away because there's a whole lot of living yet out there. I haven't done half the things I want to do and I'm curious about much of the world. Al Bhed have to be clever to get by and stay alive what with so many enemies around. Nooj, it's a game to me. Sin, fiends, Yevonites, wild animals – they're all out to get me and my job is to not let them. I have fun using my wits to avoid being broken or done in. I'm having a hell of a good time playing this game and don't intend to give up for a long, long time."

Nooj looked at him with consternation. "A game? What part does honour hold in your beliefs? Can you just keep on this way if you were insulted or if it just didn't seem worth it? Do you think it's ever proper to just quit? Is your life your own and could you throw it away if you chose to?"

"Oh, I suppose I could if it were not worth the playing anymore. But, I can't even imagine something like that."

"What if you were crippled, unable to do what you can do now?" The nightmare rose, unbidden, into his mind's eye.

"So long as I had my wits about me I think I could deal with any other maiming." Aquelev was serious now, forced to consider his words and test them against his honest convictions. "Remember, I'm not an athlete or a fighter; I'm just a Healer, a mechanic. I don't need much besides my brain and one hand. And I could do without the hand in a pinch." He laughed at his own joke.

The Captain did not laugh. "Yes, I can see that. It has to depend on what each person needs to do his job. If your mind were taken, then you would want to die?"

"I can't answer that. How do I know what I'd want if my mind were gone? I might not even know I'd lost anything. No, I honestly can't conjure up a condition under which I would kill myself." He shook his head and eyed the other from under his lowered lids.

"Do you think letting yourself die is the same as actively putting a dagger in your heart? Mind you, I'm just curious."

"Again you pose a tricky question. One deed is passive, the other active. Are they the same? I'm not sure. I think it would be easier to just not fight too hard than to actually stick a blade in my chest. But I don't think that's your question. I think you're asking which is the choice of a real man. You've expressed a concern for honor – is this part of that thought?"

"In a way." Nooj scrawled meaningless squiggles in the dirt between his feet.

"I guess if I try really hard, I can imagine a man in major disgrace killing himself with whatever weapon he had. Privately, I think one of our machina pistols would be more efficient than a dagger, but that's just me. But I can't see it for any other reason. There are better ways to handle boredom and disgust. As for walking into danger – that would be better for a fighter. To sacrifice for the common good is more honorable in my view than to waste my life without a purpose. But, once again, that's just me. I can't expect anybody else to think the same way I do. Why all this talk about death?" Aquelev knew he was taking a risk approaching the subject head on in this way but he felt it might be worth it.

The other was silent for so long the Al Bhed thought he was ignoring the question.

Finally, Nooj began to speak, "Back in the Calm Lands during training, I read a book which told of how certain nobly born officers believed it was dishonorable, cowardly to dodge the blows of weaker opponents. They felt they should stand there and shrug off the efforts of their inferiors, not bothering to parry them. It was all right to kill the inferior but not to avoid their attacks."1

Aquelev could not suppress a grin. "That's nuts. What did you think about this idea? Sounds like a good way to get killed."

"Oh, in practice it worked out so the weak ones were casually slaughtered in the first waves and the noblemen kept their honor and their lives. It's the thought of going unarmed against a foe that interested me when I read this. At the time I was trying to reconcile honorable behavior with duty as a Warrior. What is a life worth when held up against honor?" Nooj was talking less to the Healer than to himself.

"You Warriors are sworn to fight for your superiors and the cause they espouse, aren't you? I think you are weighing personal honor against that institutional obligation."

"I'm surprised you understand. Not many do. Yes, that's right. It's been a concern of mine for a long time. I swore an oath when I put on this uniform and I am bound by my word but sometimes ... sometimes there are other considerations which want to take precedence." He was having a hard time saying what he needed to say. Trusting another person with his private thoughts was an unfamiliar task for him and he was struggling with the words. "I have duties to myself as well as to the Crusaders and I'm not sure which has the first claim on my services."

The Al Bhed took his time in answering, knowing he was approaching the core of the conversation. He genuinely liked and respected the troubled young man across from him and did not like to see him in such distress. It occurred to him that Nooj was groping for an excuse to live, to stop being a Deathseeker if he had ever been one. If he would accept a reason, one should surely be offered. Aquelev had found the waste of such human capital repulsive and disgusting when he first considered it and was even more repelled now that he knew the man better.

"I'm not of your race and haven't had your training, but common sense would seem to dictate that in order to fulfill your duty to your oath and to your people you must first stay alive. A dead man is no use in fighting an enemy of any sort." He paused, looking at the other man carefully. "Of course, that's just my opinion. Each man has to find his own way in this maze we call life."

Nooj twisted the blade of grass he had been examining. "Aquelev, I had a message from Major Ciele this morning. We are ordered to return to base camp as soon as possible. I shall inform the squadron when we meet at the campfire tonight and we will leave at dawn tomorrow."

Aquelev caught his breath. Why should they be ordered back when they were performing a necessary service? It was not like the Crusaders to step on the autonomy of its officers without cause. He was aware Nooj was continuing.

"No reason was given but I have a feeling something is about to happen." He shredded the grass blade and let it fall. "Sin has been quiet too long for my comfort and I wonder if the Major is anticipating an attack."

"Surely Sin strikes without warning?"

"There are some who are said to be able to sense an impending approach. I don't know whether it's valid or not but any warning would be welcome and heeded." He stood, looming over the Al Bhed. "You should send a message to your old mentor at the Travel Agency. He will want to know."

The other looked up at him with his mouth agape. "How did you know about that?" Then comprehension slowly dawned, "You devil, you've been onto that all the time."

Nooj grinned widely, "I am the leader of this team. Do you think anything of importance gets by me?"

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1When cannon first came to be commonly used in warfare, there were certain gently born officers who declined to avoid the slow clumsy cannonballs fired at them. They would stand in place watching the missiles approach, waiting to be either missed or struck and perhaps killed. It was a matter of honor.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Once the move back to base camp had been accomplished, there was no time for philosophical musings about the value of life and the virtue of self-sacrifice. There was a subdued under-current of excitement and a general air of frenzy which was nearly tangible. The rumors of war and an incipient attack swirled around the gathering like morning fog, obscuring reason and order. The Blood Avengers had been disbanded once they had reported to Lieutenant Colonel (formerly Major) Ciele, their promotions granted and the individuals folded into the greater mass of troops. Nooj had been given the title of Major but preferred to still be called Captain since he believed an acknowledgment of the higher rank would confine him to desk work and interfere with his personal need to take part in any upcoming battles.

There was much business at the various recreational venues. An excess of nervousness drove most men and women to the satisfaction of their basic appetites before it might be too late. Nooj found time to visit the House of Pain and returned much calmer; it had been a very long time since he had been in a position to indulge that particular compulsion. Diuane had returned to the House of Pleasure and was delighted to entertain him again, remembering his financial generosity from the last time. So, it was with a feeling of having taken care to prepare himself for whatever was to come that he attended the meeting to which he and some other officers had been summoned.

Colonel Nuave, a tall man who had lost his right arm and eye in the service of his state and who held command of this section of the Crusaders, addressed them. "Gentlemen and ladies, we have reason to believe there is an attack about to occur in this sector of the globe. We have received notices of various phenomena and portents which have often in the past foretold the appearance of Sin. There is an unusual calm among the fiends and even the ordinary animals which, like that still time before a great storm, alerts us to the possible battle which may come sooner rather than later." He paused and looked across the gathered audience to gauge the effect of his words.

Nooj had cringed at the over-used phrases. Why did military men, once they reached a certain rank, all talk the same way, using clichés and meaningless words? So they suspected Sin to attack? They were always expecting Sin to attack. However, as the most junior Major in the room, he held his tongue, avoiding attention lest he be brevetted to headquarters. He did not want more pay or more insignia for his coat but did want to escape confinement inside an office and away from the action.

Hearing neither objections nor questions, the Colonel continued, "Therefore, we have sent advance teams and individuals in every direction as trip-wires to alert us to the approach of our Great Enemy. While only a Summoner can defeat Sin, we of the army must do our best to protect the people and weaken the foe. Our advance men – and women – have been supplied with modern communication devices by Al Bhed engineers who have elected to join us in the struggle. Thus, we can receive warnings quickly and direct our forces to the relevant area. I wish to express our gratitude to these engineers and ask all of you to set an example for your troops and instruct them in the proper courtesy to the Al Bhed who will be embedded with our troops in the coming battle."

He paused again at the muttering of certain officers. Al Bhed were not popular in the military. Too many of those who had risen through the ranks had been carefully trained to consider all those who were different to be inferior, not quite human creatures. The strange eyes were the mark of the beast to some of the older men. Before the subdued complaints could reach a critical stage, the commanding officer harrumphed to gather the attention of the group.

"Yes, you will treat the Al Bhed with courtesy and respect." Colonel Nuave went on. "They are proving to be of great assistance to us and are asking only that we no longer persecute them. They just want the chance to show their loyalty and usefulness. There are no females of their race assigned to our forces so at least that won't be a problem. But if I hear of even one of the Al Bhed being mistreated, the officer in charge of that body of troops will be punished and a notation placed in his – or her – packet." He cleared his throat a second time and glared with his single red-rimmed eye.

"Now, you are to maintain the highest level of readiness, at no time letting down your guard. From this time, all leaves are canceled and sentries will be posted at all approaches to the camp. Intoxicants are forbidden and – well, you know the drill. No excuses, no complaints." With a final glare around the room, he tucked his swagger stick under his remaining arm and marched through the door, leaving a buzz of conversation behind him.

Since Nooj was so newly promoted, he had not yet been assigned a command. He hoped he would not be. The past months of managing the Blood Avengers had quite satisfied any hunger he might have had for authority over a mass of other humans. Taking advantage of the pre-occupation of the older officers, he slipped out of the assembly and went to find Aquelev, with whom he had established a tentative bond of trust.

He was walking across to the mess tent when Squab hailed him from behind.  
"Captain, I mean Major, what's going on? Do they know anything?"

"Not really, and call me Captain; I don't want to be a Major. No, Captain Squab, they think Sin is heading this way but they don't really know. And, oh yes, we're supposed to be nice to any Al Bhed we run across."

"So now you are ordered to be sweet to us," snickered Aquelev who had strolled up unnoticed. "What brought that on?"

Nooj smiled his half-smile, "We're meant to be grateful to you geniuses for the communications gear you supplied our out-rangers. You're a clever lot, you are. Why didn't you use that sort of thing when you were camping with us instead of sneaking away to deposit letters in a hidey-hole?"

"We didn't want you primitives to get onto the great gadgets we have at our fingertips." The Al Bhed smirked and patted Nooj on the back. "Don't want to stir up the natives."

Squab watched the by-play with his mouth agape. He had never seen the staid Nooj in a mood like this. With a stuttered excuse, he turned away and left the two alone.

"So, Nuave told you about our offer? I wasn't sure he would. He's not a bad fellow, just a little hide-bound and regimented. I think he got kicked upstairs when he was wounded. Am I right?"

"That's what I've heard. He had devoted his life to the Crusaders and they didn't want to kick him out and he was always good at planning and all the strategic part of war. The things I don't enjoy. He's in his perfect place now. And you're right, he's not a bad old guy. He cares for the army and takes as good a care of it as he can. My worst complaint about him is he's a bore." Nooj caught Aquelev by the shoulder. "Let's get away from this crowd; I want to ask you something."

When they found themselves free of the presence of other people, Nooj confessed with a somewhat embarrassed air, "I really don't have anything I need to talk to you about. I'm just trying to avoid being noticed by any of the command structure. If they think of it, they will probably try to assign me to some sort of platoon or company or, worse, stick me at headquarters. I'm trying to stay a free man for now."

The Al Bhed laughed, "I see. By the way, congratulations on your new rank."

"Forget it. I never wanted it. Captain is good enough." Nooj had not yet developed the aura of ambition, His reconsideration of his future was too young for him to have thought about his career. "You know how short our lives are under the threat of Sin. All you have to do in this army to get promoted is survive."

"So young and so cynical," the other mocked. "So you plan to hide out until the monster shows up? What then?"

"I won't hide when Sin attacks, I can promise you that. I'll fight the way I always have. Are you going to be in the battle? Or will you take advantage of your race's neutrality and just watch?"

"I intend to help out. I'm a Healer and you'll need me when the casualties start coming. Right now, I'm trying to decide if I'll be safer sticking close to you or finding someone less – ahem – adventurous to shadow."

Nooj raised an eyebrow, "Surely you're not suggesting I might take chances with our safety?"

"Not at all. I'm just weighing my chances. On another topic, how well do you know Colonel Nuave?"

"I've never met him. The first time I saw him was this morning at the briefing. Why?"

Aquelev shrugged off the inquiry. He felt a certain reluctance to admit his presence in the midst of the Crusaders was to explore the possibility of persuading them to test the advantages to be found in using machina. Colonel Nuave's missing arm had suggested a chance to demonstrate the new generation of prosthetic limbs being developed by the Al Bhed engineers and the Healer had hoped for a personal introduction to the man. However, with that no longer in the offing, he was wary of disrupting the delicate web of friendship being spun between him and the fiercely proud and easily offended Nooj. So he adroitly changed the subject.

"Do you think it's going to happen? A Sin attack – here?"

"Yes." Nooj responded gravely. "I can't tell you exactly why, but I do. There's a sort of tingling in the air, like on the edge of a thunderstorm. I have a sense of something big coming."

The Al Bhed nodded, "I know what you mean. The hairs on my arms are bristling." He glanced at the smooth wrists of the younger man and grinned slightly. "I've never been near one of Sin's targets and I wondered if he projects a sort of aura ahead of himself; some predators do that to paralyze their prey."

Nooj raised a brow, "I doubt he has to. We paralyze ourselves. This will be the second time I've faced him and I'm glad I know what to expect."

"You've seen him before? You never told me that!"

"There was no reason to. I was just a kid, about six years old. He attacked our village and I survived. It's kind of like being inoculated against a disease; you're never quite as scared if you know what's coming. You develop a resistance to panic."

They had walked across the road from the camp and down a narrow defile between the cliffs, now finding themselves shielded from the mass of others by the terrain and distance . This far away from the turmoil, the sound of voices was diminished to a muted hum and it was possible to hear the ambient sounds of the meadow – the buzz of insects, the little stirrings of the creatures which had returned once the fiends were eliminated. An arpeggio of bird song could be heard from time to time.

The day felt normal, like any other pleasant, uneventful day, but Nooj recognized the tremor of excitement under the shell of the ordinary. He looked toward the south, in the direction where the Moonflow lay. There was a faint brightness in that quarter as the reflection of the sun off the waters cast a luminous glow into the sky. The horizon lay unblemished; there was no sign of danger at any point.

"Had you heard we have been ordered to be nice to you Al Bhed?" He suddenly threw at his companion. He was genuinely curious as to how far the words from the briefing had penetrated.

Aquelev stifled a laugh, "No! So that's what you were talking about to Squab. I thought it was just a joke you were making to stir him up. You mean you really have been told to accept us? Never thought it would happen! What brought that up?"

"I think it's part of a new attempt to unite the world against Sin. We were told you people had joined us in our efforts and we are to be kind and helpful to any we meet. Something about not discouraging the war effort."

"Well, I trust you'll mind your manners and not hurt my feelings. We're a delicate breed." The Al Bhed understood Nooj did not want to talk about his own history any longer. "So, when do you think things will start happening?"

"Not much longer. Look, Aquelev, you don't have to stay with me. I'm going to wander around this area to keep away from the senior staff until it's too late to conscript me. You don't have to keep me company."

"Your company is the best I'm likely to find. I don't have anything calling me back into the camp. I took your advice and sent a message to Gratti as soon as I got the gist of this morning's meeting so that's all right. He'll make sure the others of our kind are prepared for an attack and I don't have any other urgent business. So, if it's all the same to you, I'll stick around."

"I'm glad to have you. You're one of the few people I know who can talk about something other than war and sex. Fascinating as both are, there is a limited amount of discussion available for them and I welcome a different topic from time to time. Here, here's a nice sunny spot. Let's get comfortable. Did you bring anything to eat and drink?"

"No, I have to confess not. Want me to go back and fetch supplies?"

Nooj shook his head, "There's no need to, I haven't been carrying this bag just for my own amusement." He tossed the carrier to the ground. "There's bread and meat and a couple of stone jars of ale in there. We'll survive."

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Some time later, the two men lazily stretched themselves awake from the half-dozing state brought about by their picnic on the grass. They had feasted and talked about various things until lassitude had overcome them. The sun was low in the sky and the background sounds had changed subtlety. Nooj sat up and looked toward the south again. The sky was darker there for some reason. The reflected glow seemed to have disappeared. He squinted, staring hard at the horizon. Was that a dark speck? There, far out, near where the curve of the planet began to take shape? He could not tell for sure, but he was suddenly aware that the noise of the insects had stopped and that the song of the birds had fallen still. The world seemed muted and sharpened at the same time. All his senses had heightened and his nerves were on the surface, ready to catch the smallest suggestion of danger.

"Aquelev," his quiet voice seemed to blare like a trumpet in the void. "Aquelev, something is about to happen. We need to get back to the camp. Now!"

The other scrambled to his feet. "What's wrong? Have you had some word?"

"It's gone all quiet and there is a peculiar darkness toward the Moonflow. Come on." Nooj was sprinting back along the path they had come.

When they reached the road, they could see the bustle in the camp as officers shouted orders and troops formed themselves into increasingly organized groups ready to march where directed. The rumor that the Moonflow area was under siege quickly spread through the army.

"Stay near me. You'll be safer there. I'll watch after you." Nooj ordered tersely and the Al Bhed nodded his understanding.

Within moments the two had melded into the serried ranks moving rapidly down the road toward the settlements at the the ford. There was neither time nor breath for conversation as the long serpentine mass made its way toward the recently confirmed site of the attack. They hastened to the war they had been bred and trained to wage.

Being taller than most of his contemporaries, Nooj could see further along the road. Night was falling and the luminous quality of the Moonflow should have long since become a steady glow in the darkening sky ahead. But there was no bluish light, only blackness which the trees intensified. As the body of troops crested the last hill and the edge of the water came into view, the reason became evident – the pyreflies were vanished and the shore they had graced was made dark by the massed hordes of Sin-spawn, lurking like so many loathsome animate traps in wait for their prey. Nooj absorbed that image then looked up towards the sea and saw, for the first time since his childhood, looming like a threatening storm cloud, the vast shape of Sin.

Dec 6, 20055181299


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The wages of Sin ...

He no longer dreamt. At least he no longer remembered if he did dream. His life was consumed now with the destruction of the spawn of Sin and attendant fiends. At the end of a day of fighting, he was likely to sink down where he stood and sleep wherever his body found sufficient space to lie, stretched out or curled like a grub, it no longer mattered. It was less sleep than the departure of consciousness. And he welcomed it, this deep darkness into which he found himself descending at intervals, this place of no sensation and no memories.

Blood and less savory fluids had dried and caked on his exposed skin. He could not remember the last time he had washed. Sometimes in the midst of a fierce battle, he would find himself mentally transported back to a time when he had been clean both physically and emotionally, when he had felt at peace and could bear to touch his own flesh without a shudder. There was never any time nor ever any facilities for rest and bathing. Existence had become reduced to an unending slog through a mephitic fog of kill and try to stay alive.

He was no longer sure where he was; he had fought up so many roads, across so many fields, they had all begun to look alike in their terrible bleakness. When he tried to remember, he was almost sure he had started near the Moonflow, now he could not see the expanse of water and realized he must be somewhere else. The only constant was the companion who was forever in the corner of his eye and his mind, the one for whom he held responsibility and who he attempted to shield no matter what.

He was too tired to recall just who, precisely, this person who must be defended was or why it was so important to preserve him. Or, indeed, whether the protected one was male or female. It had all become a routine of moving, swinging the sword, destroying the enemy figures which emerged from the mental and physical murk.

The Sin-spawn continued to come in endless waves whilst their immense progenitor lay just on the edge of the horizon, motionless and menacing. Nooj had a faint memory of having fought like this before, without a break and against great odds, or had it been a a dream from which it was possible to awake? He could not tell, only knowing that, memory or dream, he must keep pushing back the foes and interposing his body between the one he was sworn to protect and the danger which swarmed about them.

Aquelev watched the battle through reddened, stinging eyes. From time to time he had to physically hold his lids open with his fingers until he could snatch an hour of sleep and partially recharge his muscles. His existence had become a pattern of keeping behind the Warriors on the front ranks and casting a restorative spell as he had the opportunity. He and the other Healers, just a level removed from the line of battle, were fighting in their own way by keeping the weapons wielders whole and strong. The Al Bhed had as his particular charge his friend, Nooj. Being considerably smaller than the younger man, he was able to shelter behind him and keep a careful eye on the physical condition of the swordsman. It was because of this sharp watch that Aquelev was the first to note the gradual slackening of the ranks of the spawn. At first he thought he was mistaken but was quickly convinced of the truth of his observation. There were fewer of the horrors; he could see patches of clear ground amongst their hordes.

Nooj must have noticed the same thing only a moment later because his energy seemed to surge and he stepped forward into the war instead of merely holding his ground. His sword sweeps were wider and more opponents fell at each blow. He stood like a colossus, dealing death to the horrors without pause, his weapon an extension of his arms, laughing as he killed.

The crimson light which had bathed the battlefield began deepening to violet and then to purple. The sky was no longer reflective of the sun on the waters in the distance. Shadows stretched like spilled ink over the landscape and it became more and more difficult to make out figures and terrain. Sin was on the move, casting a penumbra across the land, the aura of dread projecting outwards as he approached. With a deliberation which was more terrifying than a rush, the great demi-urge covered the heavens and seemed to the eyes of the Warriors to hover directly above each of them.

The wind started to rise and Nooj felt the lashings of his hair against his face, obscuring his vision even as he struggled to peer through the darkness. The last of the Sin-spawn were slaughtered to be replaced by the hideous howling of the tempest and small tornadoes skipping across the soil which had been churned and plowed with a terrible blade.

As the darkness deepened and the winds continued to increase in their intensity, Aquelev found it difficult to stay on his feet. He could not see where he was going and stumbled over debris and bodies, falling and having more trouble each time standing again. He no longer knew where Nooj was and had no target for his supportive spells. Finally he rolled himself into a fetal position and sheltered behind a low wall which had been the most recent object to trip him up. The ululation of the elements had disoriented him and he felt as though he had been moving directly toward disaster. Wrapping his head in his arms, he tried to shut out the noise and confusion and survive until it was all over.

Nooj was still upright. He moved with effort through the hurricane, buffeted by windblown debris and finding nothing for his sword to bite into. He felt the weight of the darkness just above his head and thought if he lifted a hand he would touch the hovering creature generating this maelstrom. There was no time or room for fear in his response; he was driven solely by the necessity of finding a point of weakness and destroying the monstrous being. He was not even tired any longer. He was obsessed and consumed by the duty he must obey, the orders he must fulfill. Half-blinded by the spinning particles in the air, he blundered on into the center of the darkness. There, on a small hillock, he raised himself to his full height and, thrusting his sword directly upward, shrieked a battle cry into the turmoil.

As if in answer, the whirlwinds died and stillness inhabited the darkness. Nooj stood there like the embodiment of the hero, face turned up to where the sky should have been, and shouted his challenge again into the belly of the waiting Sin. The world waited, poised on a fulcrum of inaction, not breathing, still with the stillness of the death which littered the earth. The man did not alter his pose, his sword reaching for the hide of his enemy and his muscles tensed like those of a tiger ready to leap. All was frozen for a period of time which could not be measured. It was a heart beat or it was a lifetime. Time, itself, had paused and disappeared from the earth.

In the dark silence, the heat pressed like a band about his chest, choking off air from his lungs, creating an electrical charge which lifted his hair on his head, making of it a halo of darkness against the deep shadows of the scene. Lightning flames ran across the surface of the lifted sword, the blue of their brilliance painful to see. The current ran up and up, reaching for the invisible blackness above. Nooj felt the readiness fill his body until it was like a bow string drawn to its furthermost. Then it came. He was dragged upward, his feet losing their purchase on the earth. Higher and higher into the void. He poised himself as best he could for the impact with Sin, anticipating the jar to his wrists when his sword penetrated the integument of the beast.

An actinic white light flashed on, a spotlight of blinding intensity. The darkness was dissolved like a stain under water. Nooj was seized in an eddy of light, force, noise. He was spun like a scrap of paper in a whirlwind, torn and crumpled by the invisible power. Pain possessed him entirely, such pain as he had never before experienced. A flaring brilliant pain which cleaned as it punished. He was purified into white-hot agony, nothing more, as he went twisting down a helix of screams. Only gradually did he realize the screams were his and they were claws ripping the lining of his throat making the blood explode from his mouth like a geyser. His vision was blinded with crimson and nothingness as his senses started their recoil. No thinking, no consciousness of what was happening – just the eternal blanket of pain, the tearing apart of flesh, the dismemberment of his body. He found himself reduced to only the most minute fragments as each nerve was teased out and tormented. The kaleidoscope of torture held him and every shifting of the tube was worse and it would not stop – ever.

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Aquelev watched in disbelieving horror as his friend was taken by the monster and flung across the terrain like a broken toy. He was unable to make sense of exactly what was happening because of the intense light but thought he saw a spray of scarlet springing from the tumbling body just before it fell. Then, with another explosion of light, Sin was gone and the Al Bhed was left blinking, squinting under a cloudy but empty sky, deafened by the sudden silence.

Just to his right and about a hundred feet away, he could make out a contorted figure in the easily identifiable garb of a Crusader. The Healer half ran, half crawled and found it was Nooj, or what was left of him. The upturned face was fixed in a rictus of agony past enduring and the body was shattered. The left arm was gone at the shoulder and the left leg was nothing but crushed pulp from mid-thigh down. In spite of the massive injuries and the loss of blood, the man lived.

Aquelev cast what spells he could to seal the torn vessels and bolster the vitality of his friend. He could see others of his profession moving on the field but they were too far away and were preoccupied with their own charges so he pulled out the communicator Gratti had insisted he carry and, heedless of the ban on non-priority transmissions, shouted for help. He was not aware of the tears washing down his face as he stood over the broken body of his Warrior friend.

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"How is he? Is he still alive?" Gratti asked when he finally located Aquelev amongst the the confusion of the field hospital.

"Still breathing. Still unconscious. Don't know how it'll go." The younger man tried to keep his voice from breaking.

Gratti placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I've managed to arrange to get him moved to the main Luca hospital. We've got some surgeons on the staff there; they're more open-minded in Luca than Bevelle. If he can be saved, that's where to do it."

Aquelev had achieved better control. "Did you see him?" When the other shook his head, "His arm is gone and his leg." He gulped, swallowing hard as he remembered the sight and momentarily closed his eyes. "Do you think ...?"

"That we could implant our new prostheses? I could talk to the surgeons and engineers in Luca. This is a very strong man, you've told me. He might be exactly what we've been looking for as a test case – if the rest of him isn't too damaged. Why do you care so much about this one? He's not Al Bhed."

"He's my friend. He put his body between me and Sin. Without hesitating. He protected me at his own risk."

"That's what he was trained to do all his life." Gratti gently murmured.

"To protect an Al Bhed? No, I don't think so. The last words he said to me were to stay near him and he would keep me safe." Aquelev forced back a sob as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him again. He turned to the wall to hide his face from his mentor.

Gratti placed a reassuring hand on the other man's back. "It's all right. I'll see what I can do to have your friend put back together. Who knows? We may all benefit from this adventure. Do you think he'll consent to being our lab rat?"

"I know he will!" The younger man spun around, hope glowing from his eyes. "I'll consent for him. Just, please, do what you can; pull any strings you can find. There must be some favors you can call in."

Gratti looked at his protégé with wonderment. The Al Bhed were not noted for their stoicism but it was not usual to see one of their race blubbering over an outsider. "Don't worry. We'll take care of him. He'll survive." Unspoken aloud was his fervent wish the outcome would be satisfactory. Experiments always carried a baggage of unforeseen consequences.

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In the quiet confines of the Critical Care Unit of the main hospital in Luca, a subdued bustle ruffled the calm.

"Is he still unconscious? Did you order him to be kept under?" Lume, the most senior of the Al Bhed engineers asked the man in surgical greens beside him.

"I haven't had to. He's made no signs of waking up." The other responded. "I'm not sure he's going to. Until I can see some indications, I'm going to leave his mind alone and finish tending the injuries in case we go ahead with the implants. I still have some tidying up to do."

"I leave it to you, Kalek, you're the best surgeon we've got around here. Do you want me to send for any consultants from Home?"

"Not yet. What I want now is to show you the damage and let you take shots and sketches so you can get the things customized by the time I'm ready to attach them. There's not much else to be done for him; he'll have to find the strength inside himself to live or not." The surgeon looked at the patient in the bed before him.

The man lying there had been tall but now seemed shrunken in all his dimensions. His face, which was all of his skin visible to the eye, was almost as blanched as the sheets which covered him and seemed even paler in contrast with the dark hair flowing over the pillow. At first glance, he was the typical figure awaiting healing attention but a closer look revealed an unnatural flatness to the left side of his body, as though that part had sunk into the mattress which supported him. The reason was made clear when Kalek turned back the covering and revealed that the left arm and leg were largely missing. The broad shoulder terminated suddenly in a padded bandage and the left thigh was abruptly sheared away near its halfway mark.

"Is there any of the shoulder joint left?" Lume aimed his camera.

"Not enough to matter. You'll have to construct one and tie it into the scapular and the clavicle. Wait and I'll remove the bandages so you can see what you're faced with." Kalek, using a blunted-tip scissors, cut away the swathings.

"Good lord! It looks like something melted the flesh and then it hardened again. It looks like a half-burned candle!" The engineer recoiled.

"Don't go all queasy on me. Just get the pictures and sketches. The leg isn't as bad. Here, bend over for a minute and get control of yourself."

"I'm all right. Just give me a moment to adjust." Lume shook himself, took a deep breath and began photographing the wound from every angle. "Now, I need to measure some things and do a few drawings." He quickly completed his task.

"Go sit down in the corner and recover while I bandage the shoulder again. Lean against the wall. You're almost as white as he is. I'll call you when I have the leg ready for you." Kalek was slightly scornful of the delicacy of those who were not of his profession.

When Kalek beckoned him over to record the particulars of the thigh amputation, Lume had a firmer grip on his stomach. The stump demonstrated the same lumpy waxy look as the tissue at the shoulder but it was less disturbing without the shadow of the rib cage behind the vivid scarring.

"There's enough left here so we can attach the prosthesis without any trouble," he muttered mostly to himself. "We should be able to make enough nerve connections. This would be all right. No reason it shouldn't work." He carefully stowed away the exposed spheres with their images and turned to Kalek. "Why did you choose a subject this damaged for our first try, anyway? There must be other amputees who are at least awake and going to live. Why pick one who may die on us as soon as we get his limbs designed?"

The surgeon sighed. "An old friend asked me to use this one. You remember Gratti? He's been risking his life in the middle of these Warriors for the past year. And he's done a damn fine job talking them into giving our machina a try. Next bonus you get, you can thank Gratti and his team. He swears this man – his name is Nooj, by the way – is stronger than any other Spiran he's met and will do us proud. Well, think about it, he has to be stronger than most to have survived this far. He took a direct hit from ... and he's owed something for standing up to Sin all by himself. That took some courage, you know. I hear he just went right up to the creature and challenged it. He's damn' lucky to be as alive as he is."

Grudgingly, the engineer nodded and looked at the unconscious man with a new respect. If only the wounds were not so hideous ...

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Where was he and what had happened? He was aware of only a few sensations. Confusion, the alternation of darkness with glaring light, shadowy figures moving in mysterious patterns, and pain. Overwhelming pain. He tried to cry out but could force no sound from a throat too lacerated to channel a scream. He could not tell if his mouth had moved or not. What images he could detect seemed to arise from somewhere other than his eyes. He thought his lids were sealed in some manner. Was this the FarPlane? Surely not with the stench of blood and death lodged in his nostrils. How could his senses be operating without his control? Had he finally achieved his goal just when it had stopped being his goal? He could not understand.

He was dizzy and disoriented with pain. It filled his mind to the exclusion of all else. No thought could be followed to its end past the convolutions of the pain. It had become a separate body, a fiend-like creature gnawing at his vitals. He would have tried to strangle it were he not paralyzed. Had this been done on purpose? He knew of cases when badly injured Warriors had been cast into a protective paralytic coma until they could heal. Did the doctors know the pain felt in this treatment? Why didn't those who suffered like this report it when they woke? Maybe those who hurt like this did not wake but died. Was he dead? What was happening? He had to get away from the agony.

He felt a cool hand on his brow and knew it was Kaith. So he was dead and she had come to him. Now he could beg her forgiveness for letting her be killed during the training mission. He thought once he had her blessing, he could pass into Nothingness. He hoped so; he was not sure how much longer he could bear the pain. It had returned in renewed force, burrowing into his center with teeth and claws. Again he tried to scream; again he could not. He was confined within his tortured body with no way to communicate with the world outside himself. This was surely Hell.

Once more, he felt the presence of Kaith and her calming touch. He tried to express his regret to her. With no words, he projected his thoughts and believed he heard an echo. Then the pain descended again and he spiraled down into darkness and a merciful place of peace.

Dec 12, 200551812910


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The clear white light illuminating the operating table revealed a scene of organized chaos. Figures in the pale yellow overalls of the surgical staff bustled around with mysterious instruments and devices. Low voices hissed urgent demands into impatient ears. At the center of the turmoil, bent over the draped figure under the focus of the light, the Al Bhed surgeon Kalek lifted his head for a nurse to wipe the beads of sweat which threatened to drip into his eyes.

"Forceps." He requested. When the handles were slapped into his waiting palm, he gingerly teased out a long sliver of bone from the oozing wound before him. "That should do it. I don't see any more fragments. Anybody?"

There was a general shaking of heads as numerous expert observers scanned the site.

"OK. I'm going to close now. How's his breathing? Any anomalies in the vital signs?"

The head nurse responded after checking his instruments. "No. For a moment, I thought he was going to wake up but he slipped back and there's no reaction. All signs still strong. Breathing steady. Heart steady. Pressure normal."

"I'm glad to get this done while he's still under. It's better to keep spells and all that at a minimum if we can. He'll wake up when he's ready, I suppose. I don't see any reason for concern yet." Kalek almost absent-mindedly inserted the sutures with a practiced hand. "All right, you can do the bandaging now. I'm finished. Make sure you keep me informed if there are any changes." He stripped off his gloves and wiped his sleeve across his forehead on his way out of the close room. He was tired; he had been removing bits of splintered bone from the ruin of the man's shoulder for what seemed like hours.

Nooj – yes, that was the name – was a problem. He was healing as well as could be expected after his cataclysmic encounter with Sin. Everything in his body was functioning as it should, so far as could be told. But he remained unconscious and deeply immersed in his own world. Kalek, in spite of his declaration, was beginning to feel a stirring of worry in the back of his mind. It was not normal for a man, no matter how badly injured, to remain comatose for so long. A retreat from such a mauling was not unexpected but the man should be surfacing by now. He sat down behind his desk and proceeded to brood until he was distracted by the presence of Lume.

"Greetings, Kalek. If you're ready to start your grand experiment, I've finally got the parts for you."

"That was fast. I've just finished taking out what I hope are the last bone fragments working their way toward the surface at the sites." The surgeon said with a twisted smile. "How did you get them done so quickly?"

"I convinced the others in the design shop we'd better grab this chance. May be our best one ever to sway these people to the virtues of machina. Have you heard what the street is saying about this Nooj?"

"No, I haven't had time to leave the hospital lately. What's going on?"

"They're making a real hero of him and I think it's due to Aquelev who has been getting drunk in every tavern in town and telling his version of the story. The one where Nooj throws himself at Sin and, single-handedly, drives him away while standing over the helpless masses of the rest of the army." Lume laughed at the credulity of the Spirans.

"That's not all that far off what I've heard from other witnesses. There's generally a grain of truth in legends. What harm does it do to celebrate the poor bastard?"

"Not a bit! And it's going to be a big plus for us if you can get the machina limbs stitched on and working like they should. We can advertise as much as we want and be as extravagant as we like if you can get him up and walking around again." Lume made expansive gestures.

"Yes, that's the problem. I've got to wake him up before any of this can happen." Kalek was pensive.

"You're going to insist on getting his permission? Won't it be easier to do the work while he's unconscious? Why not do it the easy way?"

"Doesn't seem ethical. But I may have to. It would be easier and no man in his right mind would turn down the chance to walk and have two arms again. I'll see. Two more days and I'll see." Kalek's tone indicated that part of the conversation was closed. "Now, show me these prostheses you've brought."

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The pain had found a center – in his left shoulder. This, more than anything else convinced him it was a dream. He could remember nightmares like this, many of them. That meant he could wake up if it got too bad. He was not yet sure he wanted to wake. To do so would be to leave the presence of Kaith. Since she was long dead, she could not be with him in the waking world and he was comforted by her touch and the knowledge she was near him. But the pain was growing worse by the moment; he was not sure how much longer he could tolerate it. There seemed to be thin spots in the dream, places where he could see through into the other side.

His eyes flickered and he thought he was awake. The first action he attempted, as always when rousing from one of these nightmares, was to reach over and reassure himself he was still intact. He tried to move his right hand to the opposite shoulder but found he could not. Something was restraining him. And the pain had not stopped. It blazed and flared, making him moan at the intensity. Still focused in the left shoulder, yet spreading throughout his body, the agony was a living presence, an inhabitant of his skin and the master of every nerve. Stoicism dissolved in the increasing ferocity of the pain and he would have called for help, for some anodyne, had he been able to do so. He could taste blood filling his mouth and running down his throat as he tried to shout then darkness absorbed him again and he felt no more.

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"When did you notice the blood on his face?" The floor supervision was not happy.

"When I came in just now to check his vitals." The probationary nurse was hesitant and shame-faced.

"Don't worry. You didn't do anything wrong. I just need to chart this. I don't see how it happened." His voice trailed off as he gently opened his patient's mouth and used a small torch to peer into the throat. "I'll just check this. Ah ... I see. Just press that call button and summon a Healer." The supervision straightened up. "He's got lacerations in his throat. We missed that somehow. Probably not serious but uncomfortable for him."

The nurse looked with round impressed eyes from the inhabitant of the bed to the superior. "I thought we checked for everything when we admitted someone."

"This was such an emergency and we were in such a rush to stabilize him, I guess we cut some corners. Oh, Dr. Zontus, it's good of you to come so quickly. Could you just take a glance here and see what you can do?"

The Healer did his own inspection and, then with a confident air, placed one hand on the neck of the unconscious man and waving his staff with the other, mumbled an incantation. "That should do it. A simple repair job. But I wonder how the membranes got torn like that. It'll be all right now." Like the quasi-royalty he was, the doctor left the room.

The supervisor gave a sigh of relief. "We've been lucky. Mustn't take any more chances. We'll need to have someone in here with him now. You take the first shift." He looked pointedly at the probationer.

"Wh-what do I do if he wakes up?" The voice of the young woman trembled.

The supervisor looked at the girl with exasperation, "Call for assistance, you ninny. You have your communicator?" At the nod, "Use it and call for backup if he begins stirring. This is an important patient."

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He thought he had almost drowned and emerged from the darkness with a pressing need for air, gasping and struggling. He had been fighting again – the same old dream. Fighting and falling and losing himself in the battle. He could not bring the air into his lungs. Had the inevitable finally happened and was he to die in this dream? What would it mean if he died here? Would he die in the real world as well? He had heard that was so and had dismissed it as speculation and rumor since by its nature such a belief was not testable. His mind spun on itself, throwing out more and more questionable ideas. He should have strangled by now but there was the thinnest possible thread of air penetrating the thick blockages between his chest and the flooding oxygen in which he floated. His feet touched the base of the darkness and he pushed upward with all the strength he could call upon. His senses fading, he fell toward the surface, knowing Kaith would be waiting for him when he found the air.

There it was – that thinning of the darkness in which he was lost. He turned his vision as far as possible, looking for Kaith. He must find her or sink to the depths again. He stretched his hands as far as he could and reached for her. Her clasp would save him. A shadow moved on the edge of his eye, a graceful feminine shape. Kaith? He tried to say her name and, to his astonishment, heard it vibrate against the inside of his ear. "Kaith?" Again.

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In the room, the young nurse heard a sound from her charge and saw, or thought she saw, a flicker of the eyelids. Hastily, she bent over the face of her patient, searching for some sign of returning awareness.

"Kaith."

The nurse did not know what it meant, but it was a sound. There was no doubt about that. She convulsively pressed her communicator button and gasped, "He's trying to talk. Come here. Oh, please, somebody come here." Knowing nothing else to do, she placed her palm on his forehead and prayed this was not a sign he was dying. An eternity passed before the door of the room filled with an assortment of medical personnel, some pushing mysterious machines, most merely looking important.

Dr. Zontus, who had been the last to administer treatment was the designated physician in charge. He was immediately seconded by Kalek, who as the principal surgeon, was prepared to fight for the privilege of primacy. The two jostled in an unbecoming manner at the bedside. The sudden opening of Nooj's eyes, like the blare of a trumpet, quieted them. The eyes stared up, dark and oblivious, brilliant and unfocused.

"Kaith." The Healers had to bend low to catch the word.

Kalek took advantage of the confusion to brush back the others. "Yes, you are alive and doing well. You are Nooj. You are alive. You are safe. Be at ease." He was of the school which believing in talking simply to the ill and injured.

Nooj turned his head slightly and his eyes became less vacant. "Where is Kaith?" Only when he had said it did he realize the absurdity of the question. She was a part of the other world, or so he thought. It was all very confusing.

"Kaith will be here soon. Don't worry." Kalek spun around and whispered to the group at large. "Find out who this Kaith is and where he or she is. Quick." There was a rapid scurry as underlings sped on their way.

The man on the bed willed his right arm to move. If the dream was over, he needed to check himself to be sure it had been only a dream. Kaith was gone and there were other people around so he must be awake. It was strange but the arm still would not respond; was he still in the dream? He had never had this sort of experience in which he both dreamt and woke. Which was it? Where was he? They said he lived but he lay as though dead.

"He's trying to move his arm." Zontus observed.

"I can see that." Kalek answered. "Loosen the sheet. He's still very weak."

One of the nurses gently drew the tucked-in sheet away from the remaining arm. "There, sir. You can move now."

Nooj felt the constriction ease but he was still unsure as to the state of his awareness. The pain in the left side of his body should have dissipated if he had emerged from the dream. If he was still sleeping, what was the meaning of the crowd around his bed? And Aquelev – that was who he had been protecting. Was he alive? Where was he? All other thoughts immediately fled. He tried to turn his head to search the room. "Aquelev?" he whispered, glad to be able to form the name.

"Aquelev, isn't that one of the junior staff? Get him here at once." Kalek ordered.

There was a general stir and upheaval in the mass of on-lookers. To the satisfaction of them all, the Al Bhed healer was discovered amongst those crowded into the corridor and was quickly passed like a baton to the bedside of the wounded man.

Aquelev was almost unable to speak in his joy at seeing his friend alive and conscious. He had nearly lost hope during the days of waiting. "Nooj, I'm here. It's all right."

"You survived? Good." Nooj squinted in an effort to make out the features of the man leaning over him. The voice was familiar but he could not clearly see the face. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm safe and well. You're in the hospital at Luca. How do you feel?"

"Hurt. Am I awake? I can't be sure."

"You're awake. Are you in much pain?" Aquelev gently extended his receptors to scan the broken man. "I'll help you now." He cast a palliative spell to ease the torture he felt scourging the other.

Nooj closed his eyes and breathed more deeply. "Better. Thank you. And Sin? Did I kill him? Only a Summoner..." He slipped into a light doze, exhausted from the efforts he had made.

Aquelev turned to the others. "I am asserting my authority here. I was the original medical attendant to this man and I will resume my care of him with the assistance of Dr. Kalek who will be the surgical consultant. The rest of you can go now. The patient will sleep naturally until he wakes again and then we will take the necessary decisions." His voice trembled a little at the end of his brave speech. It was not usual for a junior to so address his superiors even when he was in the right of it.

When the area had been reluctantly cleared by the curious and the putative helpers, he turned to the surgeon and said, "I think we had better have a talk."

Kalek nodded, "Yes, by the way, I'm on your side. He obviously has confidence in you and will accept treatment more easily if you advise it. What can I tell you?"

"Everything you know. I last saw him in a field hospital and expected him to die."

Kalek carefully and thoroughly briefed Aquelev, showing him the charts and recommendations which had accumulated during the hospital stay.

"So, the triage team missed the throat injury? I guess that's understandable given the circumstances. And the prostheses are ready to implant? What do you suggest?" The Healer looked deeply into the eyes of his fellow Al Bhed.

"I'd like to go ahead and implant them. He's too weak to saddle with all our ethical problems. And I doubt he's thinking clearly. The longer we wait for implantation the less chance of successful nerve connections. You do understand these limbs are meant to be operated by his mind just like the original ones?"

"Yes, I know about that. But I didn't know there was a time frame."

"Nerves don't last forever. The fact he's hurting means the nerves are still firing. We should take advantage of that. I'd like to schedule surgery for tomorrow on the arm. It's going to be the more tricky one and I'll be glad to get it over with. If it looks like things are going well, I'll do the leg too."

Aquelev considered for a moment and agreed, "All right. Schedule it. I'll try to talk to him later today and explain what we're doing and why." He cupped his palm about the face of his friend and murmured, "Nooj, I'll try to take as much care of you as you did of me. Trust me, please."

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He floated on the membrane between waking and sleep. The pain was still there but only as a dimly perceived beast gnawing but not immediately felt. There was something he had forgotten; he would not be able to rest until he remembered it. Yes, there is was – why did his left arm and leg feel so strange? His hand and foot were numb and unfeeling yet burning as with a distant fire. He could not move them nor could he bend the wrist or ankle. He thought he must be injured on that side. Perhaps the bones were broken. He was not greatly concerned because he could sense the limbs throughout their length. He was not caught in the dream of loss and mutilation, only still groping toward full consciousness. He was weak, not maimed. His body could not deceive him so completely. Satisfied with his reasoning, he let himself drift back into sleep itself in the direction of the quiet and away from the pain.

12/22/0551812910


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Aquelev took the flaccid wrist in his hand and searched for the tell-tale artery. The pulse was stronger and he had an irrational conviction that the man on the bed was near waking. Thus he was pleased but not surprised to see the eyelids flicker even though it gave him nervous butterflies in his insides. Did Nooj know yet what had happened to him? If not, what would his reaction be when he realized what he had lost?

"Aquelev? All right?" Nooj whispered then paused; after catching his breath, he continued in a stronger voice, "Where is this?"

"I'm fine, Nooj. This is the Luca Hospital. How do you feel? Do you need help with pain?"

Nooj made a ghastly attempt to smile, "I can bear it. What happened? I remember Sin and going at him ..." His voice trailed off as he moved his right hand toward his left side.

Aquelev made no effort to interfere, only readying himself for the moment of discovery. It took an eternity for the fingers of the remaining hand to walk their way to the bandaged shoulder.

Nooj stopped his motion as his searching touch encountered nothing where he expected his left arm to be. Silently, he shifted his reach downwards toward his leg and paused again when he touched the end of the stump of his thigh. An inadvertent gasp of pain escaped him before he drew a deep breath and closing his eyes, shifted his hand to his groin. An easing of the tension in his facial muscles indicated his relief at what he found there.

"Am I awake? This is the way the dream went." There was a pleading tone in his voice and he appeared to be gazing inward as though looking for some way to reconcile what his fingers had conveyed to his brain with what he thought must be the truth.

Aquelev swallowed the obstruction in his throat. "You're awake, my friend, and you're still a man. Sin took your arm and leg but we can replace them." He brushed the dark hair back from the blanched face. "You'll be all right." He was not sure how much of what he said Nooj either heard or understood. The compulsion to keep talking, to fill the booming silences, to make everything all right with his words, drove him on.

"We have these custom devices which will work just like the old ones. You'll see. You won't even notice the difference. They are made just for you. You'll see it's going to be fine." He placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on the right shoulder, looking earnestly into the unfocused eyes. "We 'll start tomorrow and you'll see. Just rest now and don't worry; we're going to fix things for you." He was beginning to feel a flutter of panic when Nooj did not answer.

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He could not make sense of it all. Never in his dreams had he feared for his manhood. What had driven him to make sure of its existence this time? Something was different. The arm and leg were gone so it must be that he was dreaming. Yet, he was lying in a clean bed in what he was told was a hospital. Every other time, he had discovered his maiming on the field of battle. Nothing made sense. In the dreams, he did not hurt, not like this. He was exhausted and filthy but not in pain. Not pain like this. He reached for his leg again, again the stab of agony as he pressed the bandage which terminated so abruptly. He could feel his foot throbbing and burning but he could not find the limb which led to it. And his hand. He could almost clench it. Were it not for the swelling and burning in the palm and across the knuckles, he was sure he could grip the sheet on which it lay. A tentative groping for the elbow confirmed that limb was vanished as well. He moaned far back in his throat like an injured animal who could not understand what had happened.

And he did not understand. His nerves and his reason told him Aquelev was correct and he was damaged, broken, torn apart. However, his memory of other nearly as convincing moments which had been dreams persuaded him away from belief in his own destruction. Things grew increasingly incoherent and he fell, far back into the fog of non-thought.

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Aquelev was unsure whether to feel relief or concern as he watched Nooj slip back into unconsciousness. It was not unusual for a gravely ill or injured person to move seamlessly in and out of awareness and was an effective way to escape pain or reality which was too harsh for the bearing. His friend had not refused the prostheses, not in a definite statement. With a feeling of guilt which he quickly suppressed, The Al Bhed set out to persuade himself that Nooj had in effect signaled his agreement by the simple act of not objecting.

He reminded himself that Nooj remained weak, still very close to death and could not be expected to be capable of weighing complex matters carefully and Kalek's statement about nerve vitality must be accepted as truth. Yes, the surgery must begin on the morrow. It could not be deferred by too scrupulous a conscience or all hope of a successful outcome might be lost.

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The crowded room was deliberately kept warm since the safety of the patient was of more importance than the comfort of those who attended him. A motionless body might easily become chilled and the vital processes repressed so warmth was required. This time the warmth was excessive because of the presence of too many moving bodies in the limited space. The wheeled tray holding a pair of large rounded items covered with sterile towels took up more of the available space and added to the sense of crowding. The only elbow room was that afforded to the two men who stood on opposite sides of the table.

Kalek had just finished cutting away the bandages over the remnants of the thigh. He preferred to do his own preparatory work, never quite trusting even the most skilled assistant to perform to his satisfaction. "That's beginning to heal nicely. I wish I could let it continue but I can't risk the wait. And the tissues will heal around the machina if I do it right." It was unclear whether he was talking to himself or to his counterpart.

Aquelev took the statement as directed to him and replied, "I understand. If you waited for a complete healing, you would just have to open the area again and the nerves might not be as responsive. Do you want me to hold the clamps?"

"No, leave that to my nurses. I trained 'em myself and they know my ways. What I want you to do is keep an eye on his consciousness and make sure he doesn't wake up in the middle of this. I don't want to hurt him because I need perfect stillness while I'm operating. Once the implants are done, you'll need to be ready to rouse him enough for me to test the neural connections." Kalek was brusque but courteous. He and the other Al Bhed shared a mutual respect and worked well together.

Aquelev nodded his acquiescence and placed his palm flat against the forehead of the man on the table the better to track his mental processes. Nooj, his face peaceful, lay secured to the surface with soft strapping, his body draped with sheets which left exposed the arena in which the surgeon plied his skill. He remained in the light comatose state he had been in since the preceding day.

Kalek adjusted the magnifying goggles which augmented his own vision and bent to the task of of excavating the truncated thigh to prepare it for the implantation of the machina leg which was placed ready to his hand.

Three hours later, the surgeon stretched his back and sighed. "Ok, that one's done. It looks good; the fit is perfect. The pins through the sheath should give enough stability." He sought the eye of Lume who was huddled amongst those nearer the wall. "You people did a good joy and your measurements were right on." A movement under the mask showed he was smiling. "Now, on to the hard part."

A nurse moved to him to change the blood-smeared gloves and gown, offer him a drink of cold water and wipe his brow with a cool cloth. He gestured his thanks and returned to his patient. "All right still, Aquelev?"

"He's holding. I get the feeling he knows it's better to be somewhere else for a while. I'll keep track."

With a grunt, Kalek snipped away the gauze covering the remnants of the shoulder. He closed his eyes and visualized the location of the various intact parts then, with a sigh, closed his hand around the scalpel placed in his hand.

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"Careful. He's trying to wake up." There was urgency in Aquelev's warning. "I can feel his mind surfacing."

"Can you send him back again for another forty-five minutes? I'm nearly done and at a tricky part."

"I'll try. Can you pause for just a few minutes."

"OK. I need a little break anyway."

The Healer sent quieting and soothing spells into the mind of his friend. The slight unease he had detected in the other began to dissipate and the rise and fall of the chest became deeper and more even. "All right. You can finish."

Kalek crouched over his work again and connected the final delicate fibers of neural tissue. "Ok. Close this area and cover him. We'll take a short rest and then rouse him enough to see if we did it right. Be careful; the arm is not as firm as the leg. You saw how much I had to build up." He stalked from the surgery room to the small lounge adjoining the theatre. Every muscle in his body ached and his fingers, finally finished with the painstaking effort, began to twitch uncontrollably. This always happened after a complex surgery; thankfully, it held off until he had completed his task. The day it started up before that point was the day he would no longer practice his profession. It was a constant worry but one he could repress except sometimes at night when he would wake and ponder his future.

It had been an innovative operation, the first he knew of tying the physical nervous system of a living man into the Al Bhed developed Artificial Intelligence network of a manufactured device. If it could be made to work much of the terror and despair of wartime mutilation would be ended and a new era of rehabilitation would be born. In that new world, he would have a prominent place as the first to do what he had just done. Although he was not a religious man, he breathed a short prayer that the recipient of the ingenuous limbs was both as strong as it was claimed and as intelligent as he had heard. It would be the perseverance of Nooj which would either prove the experiment or make it a failure. Well, in another hour, he would have a good idea of which way the die would fall.

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He could hear his name being called, summoning him through the dark waters. As he surged upward to the surface the pain which had been in abeyance tightened its grip upon him, clawing the length of his left side.

He had a fugitive memory of a dream become reality and the vision of the loss of much of his body. He had had such dreams before and they had been just that – dreams. It was not a perfect understanding and he had chosen to reject it until he knew for certain.

"Nooj, wake up. You must wake up." Something was shaking him; it hurt. He tried to bat at the nuisance with his forearm, only to feel his wrist seized in a immobilizing grip. When he made the effort to strike out with his left hand, he could feel no response. His eyes came into better focus and he recognized the blurred features of Aquelev filling his field of vision.

He forced himself the rest of the way to the surface. "What?" A great tongue of fire licked down his side and he flinched.

"We need you awake now. The surgery is done and we need to check some things."

"Surgery?" He struggled to speak past the pain. "Surgery?"

Aquelev raised his voice slightly and spoke slowly and with clarity. "The implants. You needed a new arm and leg and we gave them to you. Now we need to check."

Nooj opened his eyes wider. "What have you done to me?" He pulled against the binding holding his right arm to the bed. "What are you talking about?" His thrashing caused pressure against his injured side and he screamed, the sound tearing the silence of the hushed room.

"Easy." Kalek cooed as he gestured orderlies to hold his patient still. "We'll explain everything. Just be easy."

Aquelev cast a calming spell and cursed himself for not being quicker.

Nooj took several deep breaths before asking, "Tell me what you've done. This is no dream then?"

"No. It's not a dream. Sin tore off your arm and leg and we have put new ones in their place. They are special replacements and we need to make sure it's been done right." The Healer stroked his friend's brow as he explained.

"Let me see."

Aquelev met Kalek's eyes and nodded. One of the orderlies drew back the covering sheet.

It was an incredible sight, nearly surrealistic in the unlikely merging of man and machina. No one had considered how the vivid colors of the prostheses would look compared to the pale amber flesh of their host. The concern had been to make the limbs less obvious when the user was dressed in his usual uniform. The glaring hues and polished metal, together with the visible pulleys and the armor-like sheath clasping the thigh presented a jarring disconnect to the unprepared eye.

Nooj looked at the exposed parts of his body with wonder and a dawning horror. "No! This is wrong. This isn't me! Why didn't you let me die like in the dreams?"

Aquelev jerked back in consternation. It was not supposed to go like this. Nooj was meant to be touched that his life and mobility had been preserved, not raging against his salvation.

The broken man looked up at the faces looming over him and implored, "Take them away. Put a knife in my heart and get it over with. I didn't kill Sin, did I? Sin has destroyed me, now let me die." He bit off the last word, clenching his teeth and straining against the bonds, both fabric and human holding him motionless.

Kalek sent a silent request to his consultant and the younger man responded by increasing the calming spell.

"Stop manipulating me. I kept my word to you. Now let me go." Nooj muttered hopelessly. "Why do you have to use your spells to keep me like this? You must have known I wouldn't want to live like this." The truce he had made with his fate was broken. The hunger for Death had returned with renewed intensity and he embraced it as the lost Lover it was.

Aquelev blinked back sudden tears, "Nooj, I can't let you hurt yourself. Give us a little time before you reject what we've done. Just give us a little time." He watched as the man imposed his formidable self-discipline on himself, permitting his pain to be seen only in the sheen of perspiration on his face and the compulsive flexing of the fingers of his right hand.

Nooj had not looked at the prostheses since that first unbelieving examination. He did not do so now but it was evident he was aware of them. His posture on the bed had subtly changed, his body seemingly weighted down by the heaviness of the alien limbs. More than ever, he looked to be a clumsily assembled collection of parts without coherence or unity. His eyes closed and the lines in his face smoothed. Aquelev knew this was an act of will, that the Warrior was refusing to accept the existence of his pain, was deliberately shunting it aside.

"It would appear I have no alternative." His voice was distinct, free of the ragged quality which had marked it before. "You have done this and I cannot undo it, no matter how much I wish it undone. You will have your way until I can manage an alternative. What do you want me to help you with?"

Kalek moved forward, "I am going to excite some areas and I need you to tell me what you feel." He drew out a small device and, drawing down his magnifying goggles, directed his attention to the sites of the recent surgery.

After a series of questions and answers which left Kalek gratified and Nooj clammy and trembling from the excruciating stimulation of those points at which his nerves were tied into their machina counterparts, the surgeon pronounced himself satisfied with the results of his labors and rose, stretching his back with a grunt. "I'll let you rest now. But you should know I have every reason to believe that you will be able to use these implants as they were intended. The neural connections are secure and functioning. Within a few months, you will be walking and using the arm freely. This has been a long day for you. You should try to relax and sleep for a while." He left the room drawing most of the others in his wake.

Nooj had lapsed into a state of only partial awareness and did not hear the surgeon's advice. How long he lay in that state he never knew. Time passed in an unfathomable way with neither thought not action to mark its duration. Things were done to him; he was requested to do things. Pain came like a welcome visitor to remind him some parts of his body still worked. Then it, too, was gone and he floated on a cushion of dreamingness with only the nearly silent tick of his mind to assure him he was Nooj the Die Hard, Nooj the Undying, Nooj the Deathseeker.

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"Are you all right?" Aquelev asked anxiously. "I'll leave you if you like, if you can sleep."

"No, stay a little while. I want to talk to you. I can't rest yet, need to let the aftershocks settle." Nooj said, still holding his shredded dignity to him like a handful of rags to cover his emotional nakedness. "What happened to Sin after he did this to me?" He had slowly become aware that he could not see clearly. There was a blurring of his vision which made objects more than an arm's length off seem behind a curtain of gauze. No amount of blinking helped and he could not rub his eyes because his remaining arm was secured to his side. He was quite helpless to anything to or for himself. "Is there a reason I can't see clearly? Did he damage my eyes or my brain?"

"There was some damage from the light and the wind. It's not that bad and we can correct it with lens. The technician for that will be coming by to make the tests and so forth in a day or so. It will be corrected, don't worry. Anything else bothering you?"

"Lens. Another imposition. I know I can never be a swordsman again, not with this obscenity." He gestured toward his leg with his head. "What became of my sword? It was a good one and I valued it."

"It was shattered..."

"Shattered like the rest of me, eh?"

Aquelev smiled at the feeble joke. "I'm afraid so. Your body got the better of it. We didn't find enough of the sword to be worth bringing back. It was just splinters."

"If you were honest, you would have not found it worth bringing back what was left of the body," he muttered. "No. Let it pass. I'm too tired to argue right now. And Sin? I didn't kill him, did I?" He sounded wistful and defeated.

"No. I'm afraid he got away. But you weakened him; I'm sure of that." It was kindness which spoke. The Al Bhed had no personal knowledge of any such fact. "We all know it takes a Summoner to destroy Sin. All the rest of us can do is fight back and try to save the threatened people. You did your job and did it magnificently. Nobody who saw it will ever forget you standing there – alone – between us and the Enemy. You did what you meant to do. All you could do."

Nooj lay still for a few moments, his eyes closed and his lips tightened. "I think I will rest a little now. Thank you, Aquelev."

Dec 28, 200551812911


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter ****Twelve**

Kaith was just a few steps before him. In another moment he could catch up to her so he increased his speed and ran. Improbably, she did not glance back but ran faster herself, drawing ahead of his reaching fingertips. His were the longer legs; he should have been able to outpace her with little effort, but he was panting and struggling to gain on her when he suddenly began to fall.

The left leg had crumbled and there was nothing left but the powdering of rust and the arm on that side was also falling apart as he watched. Was it rust or blood? In the lurid light, he could only tell it was reddish, not whether it was solid or liquid or even if it existed as more than a phantasm. As he continued to fall, the figure ahead of him turned and gazed into his face. It was not Kaith; it was someone else – a woman with a stern, cold, calmly impassive countenance. He recognized her with a great surge of familiarity which shook him violently. It was Death, the eternal object of his desire. She had not abandoned him but was there waiting for his embrace. She would take him to her and give him the fulfillment he had despaired of. Calling forth all his strength, he threw himself toward her welcoming arms.

He landed heavily on his side and was jolted from his delirium thronged sleep by a thunderclap of pain which struck him, obliterating all other sensations.

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"Are you all right? Do you need medication?" He felt the presence of a figure bending over him, murmuring soothingly.

"Kaith?" Still half in the grip of the dream, he mentally groped for the woman his waking mind knew was dead. "Kaith?"

He had drifted in and out of awareness, pursued by and chasing the ghosts from his past. The reek of blood and decay caked his nostrils and he, when he could form a coherent thought, wondered if he was being punished for the evils he had done – were pain and mutilation an adequate expiation for his more egregious acts? Was this the reason he had not been permitted to die? He felt the flesh burning from his bones, leaving him weakened and incapable of fighting back against the dreams. ... Slowly the darkness parted and he became aware of the words the living woman uttered.

"I'm Grayton, the nurse. Can I get you something? Do you want me to call someone?" A competent hand wiped his face with a damp cloth. "You must have rolled over on this side. The bands are supposed to prevent that." She drew back the sheet and tightened the soft straps across his chest and thighs, the bindings he had almost forgotten until she touched them.

"No. Turn on the lights. I'm awake now." He greedily swallowed water from the cup she held to his lips. "Did I make a noise?"

"Yes, it must have hurt when you turned. Are you sure you don't want some pain medication? There's a Healer on call, you know."

"It's not that bad." The shortness of his breath belied his words. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. You're not Al Bhed, are you?" He peered into her blue eyes.

Grayton grinned widely, the expression illuminating her rather homely face and bringing across it a momentary mask of beauty. "Naw. Not all of us here are. Mostly the surgeons. The rest of us are plain old Spiran. Do you want to try to eat something? You haven't had anything by mouth in a long time." She bounced a little in her desire to do anything to help.

"Not right now. Maybe a little later. I think I'll try to go back to sleep. You can turn off the lights." He heard the heavy sigh of relief as she hurried to accommodate him and smiled grimly. So, he was still scaring people, as helpless as he was.

Experimentally, he tried to move his right arm only to find not just the limb as a whole held firm but his wrist separately strapped to the bed. A quick flash of fury ran through him then receded. Resigning himself to the enforced immobility, he turned his thoughts to the dream which had recently possessed him.

It was no surprise he had become Deathseeker again. Even before the battle with Sin, the effort to reroute his destination had been going wrong. It was surprisingly comfortable to return to this more familiar pursuit. But there was a definite change in his attitude now. Before, his passion for Death had been almost a romantic schoolboy fantasy of heroism and celebrated sacrifice. Oh, he had dressed it up with rationales, all the vestments of a tragic past and a debt of honor, still it had been more of a vision than a settled reality. Now, he had reason for the hunt. He had been broken and patched back together as well as could be managed and it was not enough. He had been altered irrevocably by his second encounter with the demi-urge. There was nothing remaining to make continued living worth it to him. He would be useless as a Warrior, the only profession for which he had been trained. He dimly suspected the Al Bhed meant to use him as an ambulatory advertisement for their wares if things went well. This was unacceptable. All other paths were blocked; only the road to Nothingness was open to a creature such as he had become. That confronted and recognized, he set the matter to one side and and instructed his mind to dream of Kaith and happier days. It comforted him to believe that Nepetu still lived.

His rebellious brain would not submit, still remaining restlessly tied to wakefulness by the cord of a discomfort periodically transforming into great pain. Also the transition from autonomy to dependence was a nagging distraction to him, attacking as it did his pride as well as his privacy. He felt himself to be a prisoner of his own body, a mind trapped in a carapace of useless flesh condemned to an existence of scrabbling for what dignity he could salvage from the wreckage of what once had been. He gave another tug at the ties holding his wrist and snarled wordlessly.

Nooj accepted intellectually that all which had been visited upon him was done for benign reasons, in order to benefit him. But in his inner being, he perceived it as an invasion; he resented the idea that other beings should make decisions which impinged so intimately on his private preserves and dictated the shape or even existence of his future.

Concentrating on his anger had succeeded in putting the pain aside and had helped him ignore it. As he became more agitated, he was also increasingly aware of a dual sensory input from his left side. He could still feel his destroyed limbs – from their points of origination in his torso to the smallest joint of his fingers and toes – all still throbbing and aching. He had seen they were gone but he felt them and could not dismiss that sensation. At the same time, the increased weight of the metal and ceramic replacements tugged at him, pulling relentlessly at the sutures which held them in place.

"Grayton!" He called, glad to hear his voice steady and clear. "Grayton."

She was there in an instant, looking anxious. "Here I am. Can I help?"

"Can you find some small pillows to lift the ... things over there just a little?"

"You mean the prostheses? Sure." She bustled away and returned with an armload of little cushions. With deft movements, she slipped them under the far edges of the machina limbs, bringing them up more level with his body. "Is that better?"

In fact it was better although the adjustment had been agonizing. "Much better but I think you can call the Healer for a small pain spell if it's not too much trouble." The admission of weakness was almost as hard to bear as the stabbing sensations which occasioned it.

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Aquelev stood quietly and watched his patient/friend sleep. Emotions seemed to flicker across the livid waxy features like shadows on a screen. With the sheets drawn up to his neck and the implants covered, Nooj looked like what he was – a resting Warrior, a little thin and pale for one of his profession but still a force to be reckoned with.

The Al Bhed felt like an intruder, as though he should not be watching as the other lay unaware and thus unprotected. It was an invasion of privacy which he knew would be particularly repugnant to this uniquely self-contained man. With an impulse born of delicacy he turned away and stared out the window across the teeming city of Luca.

A slight sound from behind him made him turn back to the bed. Nooj's eyes were open and he was trying to moisten his lips with a dry tongue. Aquelev hurriedly lifted the glass of water waiting on the table and held it for his friend to drink.

"Do you think you could possibly take these damnable straps off me? I would like to be able to scratch my nose and get my own drink when I'm thirsty." Nooj demanded querulously when he had drunk.

"Of course, they were just there to keep ... while you were ..." he fumbled for an explanation which did not sound patronizing. While speaking, he unbuckled and untied the bonds, grateful for an excuse not to meet the accusing glare of his patient.

"Until you could trust me not to do something careless or to deliberately sabotage your work, that's what you mean I think. And what is that thing you have stuck in my arm?"

"It's just a saline solution to replace some of the fluids you lost. I'll take it out now you're awake."

"From the feel of it, you have another one of your omnipresent tubes fixed to take out any fluids I no longer need. Is that to come out as well?

"Er ... not just yet. I don't think you're quite up to managing that on your own yet." Aquelev blushed fiercely as he fixed his gaze on his fingers disconnecting the intravenous line. "Soon, though."

"Are you of the impression it takes two hands to manage the disposal of excess fluids from the body?" Nooj was obviously hunting a reason for outrage.

"You might find it inconvenient while lying flat on your back. That tube isn't doing any harm; forget it." The Healer thought it time to exercise his medical authority. "Face it, Nooj. You're still weak and not back to your usual self. Let us take care of you for a while. The eye specialist will be in this morning and see about some lens. Then we'll bring in some books and spheres to help you pass the time."

Nooj exploded, trying to lever himself up off the mattress. "Pass the time! What do you think I'm planning to do? Lie here and get fat like a eunuch? Get the damned experts in here to help me up. I'll find my own entertainment. I'm not an invalid!"

His outburst ended in a howl of pain as he pulled against the immobile weight of the machina limbs. They tethered him as firmly as any straps. With the incisions as yet unhealed, it was folly to move against them. Nooj instinctively tried to ease the agony by wrapping his surviving arm and hand around the source of the pain but the additional pressure only made things worse and he felt himself falling into darkness when an analgesic spell flowed soothingly over his nerves. At the same time, he felt his bladder empty from the stress and was grateful for the tube which preserved him from the humiliation of pissing himself.

Aquelev, watching carefully to determine if more intervention would be required, surmised what had happened. Wisely, he held his tongue. "Do you need more relief?' he asked blandly.

"No." Nooj gritted his teeth and gasped for breath. "Yes. A little." He held himself rigid lest another motion set off a second earthquake of pain. The echoing effects of the first were still producing aftershocks which rocked him to his depths. With an effort of will, he began to consciously relax the locked muscles and try to surmount the throbbing which permeated his entire left side including the limbs he knew no longer existed.

"I'm sorry, Nooj. I know how hard this is for you but you must be patient. You nearly died back there and you can't expect to just skip past all the healing you have ahead of you. First you have to get over the implanting surgery and then you have to learn how to use the new arm and leg. It's going to be a long road and it will take all your courage and strength to walk it." The Al Bhed spoke firmly but with decision. "I can help by keeping you as comfortable as possible but you have to stop fighting me and the rest of the medical staff. I will be here to ease your pain whenever you need me. Just ask."

Nooj stared over his friend's shoulder at the blank wall behind. "You talk about a long journey. And where will that journey end? What will I be if I give you and others my complete co-operation? At the end of the road I will still be a cripple, a monstrosity and a freak. You say I nearly died. Has it even occurred to you that death would have been better for me? You have suspected what I was for a long time. Why did you rob me of my fate?" His voice grew increasingly bleak and tired until he was almost whispering. "I have hunted Death all my life since I was a very young lad. Then when I found Her, you and your self-righteous do-gooders pulled me from Her embrace and forced me to live. You took me for your experimental beast – oh yes, I understand your motives – and grafted onto me without permission these grotesque horrors and you expect me to be grateful. You are too arrogant for belief."

"We just wanted to save you. You are my friend and I didn't want to lose you. I knew you were strong and I believed you had turned away from your obsession and had chosen to live. I didn't want you to be a cripple so I suggested you for a ... ok, a test subject, if you like ... for this new class of prostheses. Nooj, they are remarkable! You don't have to be a cripple or even an invalid. Don't give up before you see what they can do."

"But I have to wait until I can be shown. Are you hoping my resolve will weaken over time?'

"If your resolve is to die, then yes. You had decided to live before all this happened, am I right?"

Nooj sighed, "I was experimenting with it. At one time I thought I could change everything. It wasn't working out. ... Sit down and tell me about these -" He gestured toward the machina. "These things you have made a part of me. Divert me," he mocked.

Aquelev drew up a chair and carefully positioned it so that the injured man would not have to twist to see him. "These are the first models of an entirely new approach to the problem. They are not meant to be merely cosmetic but actively useful unlike earlier removable types."

Nooj interrupted, "These monstrosities cannot be removed? You've made them a permanent part of my body?" Incredulous horror permeated his voice.

"Yes, but listen. It's for the good. Kalek used pins and bone glue to tie the leg directly to your the bone left in your thigh. That's what the sheath is for. It's reinforcing the connection. He had to build a part of the shoulder joint to have somewhere to attach the arm. The prostheses have to be firmly anchored if they are to work like they're supposed to. Let me explain... Our engineers have devised a method for connecting the artificial intelligence built into these directly to your nervous system. Kalek was testing that at the end. You remember. When the healing is far enough advanced, you'll be taught to use the impulses of your own mind to move this arm and leg just like you did the organic ones." He paused, fearing his enthusiasm for the scientific and technological breakthrough was becoming excessive.

"Go on." Nooj was concentrating so intensely it was nearly palpable.

"You'll have to relearn the neural circuits the way you did when you were first learning to walk and grasp things as a baby, but it can be done. When you're fully trained, you will walk and use your new left hand easily and naturally."

"But I will no longer be fit to be a Warrior?" It was less a question than a statement.

Aquelev shook his head slowly. "I don't know. I'm not briefed on military standards. I just don't know."

"It takes agile footwork to be a swordsman. You have to be able to feel the surface you're fighting on."

"Then maybe you'll need to learn to use some other weapon. I don't know. But you'll be able to live a full life. You won't be put in storage somewhere to shrivel up and ..." Aware of what the next word was going to be, Aquelev clamped his lips tight.

"Die. And you suddenly remembered that's what I'm looking for." Nooj laughed a humorless bitter laugh. "You are trying to tempt me with life and accidentally show me Death. In this complete new life you paint for me, do you include the company of women? Are you and your compatriots planning to provide me with intimate companionship the way you tried at the Travel Agency? You thought I didn't know what you were doing there. Admit it, you Al Bhed have constantly underestimated my understanding. Think about it, where are you going to find a woman willing to make the sacrifice of embracing a body like mine?"

Aquelev was unable to formulate an answer for a long minute. "You know there's nothing wrong with your virility. The only thing which might hold you back is your ego and your damnable pride. Many women have loved and lain with injured men. The capacity of women to surmount the obstacles to devotion is legendary. There is no end to the number of women you could call to your bed and who would come as eagerly as birds to a handful of scattered seed. You haven't yet realized what a hero you are in the eyes of your people. You're in for a pleasant surprise."

The reaction from the man in the bed came as a shock to the other. "What are you talking about? Have you been spreading some sort of lies about me? I attacked Sin, failed and he broke me. Where's the heroism in that? I'm just one more scrap of debris on the trash pile Sin leaves behind."

"It was after your attack the monster went away."

"Why am I listening to all this? It's meaningless. I will not – cannot – accept any of this. Not these lies you're telling about me, not these mechanical abortions your have burdened me with, none of it. You can't keep me here forever and when you have to let me out, I'll make my own decisions and ..." He gasped for breath. "Sin always goes away after a while. Until the Summoner kills him. He left this time because he was finished. I had nothing to do with it. I doubt he even noticed tearing me apart and throwing me away. Stop all this rot at once. I won't have it." Nooj dropped his head against the pillow and glared at his companion.

Eager to change the subject, Aquelev reached to check his pulse. "Are you in much pain? You don't have to hurt even if you do think you need to go it by yourself."

Nooj twitched his wrist away, "No, I can bear it. I think it will be with me for a long time so I should practice ignoring it. Stay out of my mind, Aquelev, you and your little spells. I have to hurt to keep focused." He seemed calmer after the outburst. "Tell me one thing, Healer. Is it common to feel sensation in a part of the body that's been destroyed?"

Aquelev looked up, startled, from the notes he was making. "What do you mean? I never heard of such a thing. You can't feel anything in parts that are gone. There are no nerves."

"You told me your surgeon had used the nerves that went to the parts I lost and tied them into these ... obscenities. What I tell you is I feel my arm and hand, my leg and foot and I want to know what to do about it."

The Healer stammered, "I, I'll have to look into it. When you say 'feel' do you mean like they're still there, the flesh ones, I mean? Or is it something different?" In his mind, Aquelev wondered if this was another part of the strange dreams his friend kept referring to.

"I mean they hurt. Like the hand and arm are burning. I look over and expect to see a charred set of bones. And the leg too. It's not logical and I want to know why I'm feeling this."

Hearing the door open, Aquelev gathered his equipment together and scrambled to his feet. "Here comes Doctor Mirabel, she's going to check your eyes. I'll do some research and get back later." He scurried from the room and left Nooj, thoroughly annoyed, to the care of the tall woman who had appeared at his bedside.

Jan 1, 200651812911


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

"It's called 'phantom limb pain'," said Kalek. "It's pretty rare so not many who aren't surgeons know about it. Don't blame Aquelev."

"I don't blame his lack of knowledge but why did he get so skittish when I mentioned this?"

Kalek laughed with just a touch of scorn, "He thought you were hallucinating or that you were going more than a little out of your mind. He's been worried about that since you first woke and started talking about dreams."

Nooj was silent. He had not remembered mentioning the dreams which had troubled him over the years, dreams which had presaged the injuries he had actually suffered. The discovery he had revealed one of his most private concerns was repugnant to him. "Tell me, doctor, if I asked you to remove these machina objects, would you do it?"

"Are you asking if their presence is causing the phantom pain? If so, I can tell you they have nothing to do with it. Nobody knows the reason some people keep feeling in a body part which is gone but it's nothing connected with the machina replacements."

"That's not what I asked. Listen carefully - if I ask you to take off these abominations, will you do it?" The question was posed with elaborate patience. "They are offensive to me; I want them gone."

Kalek hid his surprise, "No. I will not do it. To remove them will be to condemn you to a life of basic immobility and frustration. What I will do is to help you learn to use these prostheses to the best of your ability. You don't know yet how good they are and have no logical reason to reject what you haven't tested."

"I know I would have preferred to die rather than live like this." Nooj tried to shift his position on the bed but was prevented by both the weight of the new limbs and the pain occasioned by moving the left side of his body. "I have no great attachment to life at all costs."

Kalek stepped closer, "The question is no longer life or death but living as a cripple or not. You can either learn to manipulate the machina limbs and walk again and use both hands or you can spend the rest of your life hobbled to a wheeled chair at the mercy of the kindness of your caregivers. Without your other arm and hand, you can't even use crutches or wheel yourself around. You don't impress me as a man who would relish being that dependent." He folded his arms and stared down at his patient.

The man on the bed clamped his jaw shut. He had no wish to further expose his personal affairs by telling the surgeon he had every intention of seeking and, this time, finding Death as soon as he was freed from surveillance. It was not universally acceptable to be a Deathseeker, not even amongst ordinary Spirans. What the Al Bhed with their unorthodox beliefs would make of it was not certain and Nooj preferred not to find out.

"Then, Kalek, what are your plans for me while I cannot decline them and how long do you intend keeping me a prisoner?"

"You're no prisoner. You're our honored and esteemed patient, the one we are making every effort to heal. We shall help you regain your strength and teach you how to connect your mind and its motor impulses to these machina miracles. We intend to have you walk out of this establishment, opening doors with your left hand and returning to a life which will fulfill you in all the important ways. Nooj, this is not a conspiracy to harm you. You have become a hero to the people, a symbol of the will to conquer Sin. You are nearly a legend – one who challenged the worse Sin can do and lived. Your survival has given hope to millions." He stopped, appalled by the expression on the other's face.

"Don't talk like that! I'm not that man! Who started this idiotic story?"

"Don't upset yourself. People are going to be people and when they need a hero, they'll find one. Forget it. You don't have to worry about it." Kalek, like most surgeons, was not noted for his bedside manner. "Let me tell you more about these things." He lightly tapped the calf of the metal and ceramic leg. There were tremors in his fingers.

Nooj hissed, "Get out and leave me alone, you imperious ass! I don't give a damn about these things you've stitched onto me. I'll find somebody to take them off as soon as I escape from here. Now take your shaking hands and go!"

Kalek flushed angrily. "Then you'll never get out. I won't have my work undone for nothing. I can keep you in institutions for years, until you rot if I choose. You can't dismiss yourself. You're a soldier under the orders of your commanders and they gave you to me." He panted mementarily, trying to recover his equanimity. "Why won't you co-operate and see how they work? You won't even look at them."

Nooj had reached over with his remaining hand and grasped the upper part of the machina arm and was trying to twist it off. In spite of the excruciating pain involved, he tugged and wrenched with all his power. Kalek frantically pressed the call button and turned to prying the other man's fingers off the limb.

"Stop that, you damned fool! You can't get rid of it that way. Knock him out," he shouted to the Healer who had responded to the call. "Put him under. Stop him!"

The Healer cast his most potent sleep spell and stood ready to take whatever additional action seemed required. Unconscious, Nooj sank back onto the pillows and the hysterical air in the room dissipated.

"Strap him back down so he can't try that again. And firmly. He's gone completely mad on us and we'll have to think of something else to do." Kalek examined his hands, checking to see if he had damaged them in the struggle and was dismayed to see the trembling had increased. With a brusque movement, he shoved both hands into his pant's pockets to conceal them from the other personnel who had come at the uproar. "Notify Aquelev I want to see him."

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"You wanted me, Kalek? Is anything wrong?" Aquelev entered the office with a worried air. "Has something happened to Nooj?"

"Sit down. We need to talk. No. There's nothing more wrong than usual with our patient if you overlook the fact he is trying to rip off the prostheses with his bare hands."

"What! What did you say to him?" The younger man sank into the chair the older pushed forward with his foot.

"Nothing more or less than the truth. What's the matter with him anyway? The way he acts you'd think he wanted to die."

"He does. I've done some checking into his background and he's what they call a Deathseeker, Taydrcaagan in our tongue. He's been actively trying to get himself killed since he was a boy. I suspected that soon after I met him and should have warned you about it."

Kalek snarled, his face transformed into a mask of fury. "I never heard of such a thing and I won't let his psychological impairments interfere with my accomplishment. Who does he think he is to try to ruin my miracle?" Noticing that his hands were beginning to tremble uncontrollably, he clasped them together and gripped them between his knees to hide the sight from his companion.

"It is his body, you know." Aquelev replied mildly. "You'll have a chance to do this kind of surgery again. He has only his one self to protect. Now – I'm not happy he's so upset and I'll try to calm him and talk him into giving the implants a chance but in the end the decision will be his."

"There may never again be such a perfect candidate for this experiment. He's strong and healthy – in his body anyway. The nerve sockets were viable; the connections are well made. I'll never have something like this again."

"Still, you can't make a person accept help he doesn't want. Don't react too quickly. He's only been faced with this for a couple of days and hasn't had time to see how they work. I know him pretty well and he's a smart one. Give him time to come to terms with all these new ideas. After all, it had to be a shock to wake up and find himself missing a few parts and see them replaced by something he'd been trained to hate and fear all his life."

Kalek shrugged, his body beginning to relax although the tremor remained in his hands. "You may be right. We'll just have to keep a watch on him and make sure he doesn't have a chance to destroy my work until we can reason with him. I tell you, Aquelev, I won't have my chance ruined because some psychotic Warrior can't deal with machina."

When Aquelev had left, Kalek sat unmoving for a while. He unfolded his hands and noticed the slight quivering still animating them. With a violent curse, he threw his appointment book across the room, ignoring the papers which spilled from it like entrails from a gutted bird. The thought of losing his place in surgical history as the first man to successfully connect machina prostheses to the human nervous system made him want to retch. What was it with these Luddite Spirans anyway? Whoever heard of a man who wanted to stop living without even making an effort to keep on? No Al Bhed was ever so wrong-headed. The surgeon swore darkly to himself. He would go immediately to the chiefs of the Crusaders and convince them that it would be necessary to keep Nooj in the care of his doctors for some time yet until he had healed sufficiently to return to duty. A watch would be kept on the man day and night and he would be confined with straps and ties so long as he resisted treatment and rehabilitation. This could be done up to the time of success or failure and publication of the results. He would not be cheated out of his hard earned renown. His plans made, Kalek turned out the light and made his way to his sleeping quarters.

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Nooj woke to a raging thirst. Without opening his eyes, he tried to reach for the water glass which stood always ready on the bed stand. To his surprise, he was unable to move his remaining arm. When he looked down, he could not tell why since the sheet had been drawn up to his neck and he could see no obstacle.

"Nurse!" He croaked. "Grayton! Are you there?"

"I'm here, sir. What do you need?" The cheerfully plain face of his attendant appeared in his field of vision.

"I'm thirsty. Why can't I move my arm?"

Grayton looked abashed. "Oh, sir, let me get the glass for you." Holding it so he could drink and supporting his head to make it easier, she continued, "They put the straps back in place so you wouldn't hurt yourself."

He pushed back against the pillow. "Well, take them off again. I want some mobility. Go on, take them off."

"I can't do that without permission. The supervision will be in soon and he may be able to." She stepped back hastily as though to avoid the blow he could not deliver. "Or your doctor when he makes his rounds."

Biting back the impulse to demand Aquelev be summoned at once, Nooj closed his eyes as a way to indicate the woman's presence was no longer required. He was fully awake, aware of all the discomforts of being kept to a single position and thoroughly irritated. The pressure of the sheath against his left hip was nearly unbearable and any attempt to alleviate it simply made things worse. Since he was unable to do anything physical about his state, he settled down to planning how to best deal with the situation in which he found himself.

If what Kalek had said was true and the commanders of the Crusaders had given him over to the Al Bhed technicians to use as an experimental subject, he had no recourse in that direction. Was that likely to be the truth? When he looked at it with honesty, it was not out of line with the way the army worked. The individual was of little importance. If his superiors thought his broken body would be of greater value in developing better ways to return soldiers to battle, they would not hesitate in directing that he be so used. So there was no reason to hope for rescue by reason of his membership in the Crusaders, no matter his former status there. It was in his own hands what became of him. Aquelev seemed inclined to do what he could to help but there was no way the junior Healer could overrule the senior surgeon even if he could be persuaded of the rightness of the cause. Not even Al Bhed were so anarchic as that.

Nooj shifted restlessly, the straps chafing his pride more than his limbs. He was especially annoyed by the one holding his right wrist firmly against the rails of the bed. No amount of tugging loosened it nor offered any slack. Experimentally, he tried to feel the inert machina arm lying along his left side. All that he could sense was the dull ache at the implantation site which became a sharp pain when he tried to move his shoulder. What Kalek had called 'phantom limb pain' was in abeyance at the moment – for which he was numbly grateful.

He would find it necessary to play a role if he was to escape the fate of becoming the demonstration model for Al Bhed ingenuity. It was evident from the behavior and words of Kalek that he was the first to be afflicted with these limbs and that how he adapted to them was of the first order of importance. It was also clear he would not be discharged from this establishment until he had done as they expected and proved their case for them. So, since escape was impossible with no independent mobility, he must learn to use the damnable devices in order to reject them. A sour smile crossed his lips at the paradox.

The picture Kalek had drawn of a half-man impotently tied to a chair and totally reliant on the kindness of others was devastating. Nooj felt a flush of anger and despair wash over his body at the mental image of himself in that position. That was another reason to take advantage of what the engineers wanted to offer him. He arched his back and shuddered violently, causing the stump of his left leg to jerk against the prosthesis. The resultant bolt of agonizing pain forced him to stifle an inadvertent cry into his pillow

Nooj had been trained to make decisions and not second-guess himself. He knew how to formulate his goals and lay out the paths to achieve them. When he had examined his thinking in the matter of his objectives and found no flaws, he made the choice, however unpleasant. Thus, he decided – he would cooperate with those who tended him and do as he was instructed. He would submerge his pride in order to be free of restrictions as quickly as possible. Then when he walked out of this hospital-prison, he would either return to his post in the Crusaders or set out as a mercenary. No matter which case, he would be able to resume his search for Death, that search he had so injudiciously abandoned in a fit of unmerited optimism. When he remembered the time when he had thought he might live, he could only assume his mind had been disordered by the lingering effects of the poisoned spear. Now he was back to his own self, what was left of it, his aim re-established.

Peace restored to his spirit, Nooj permitted himself to drift off into a half-doze.

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He was running across the flat lands near the training camp. Keeping pace with him were Nepetu and Kaith. The sound of their breathing was a soft rhythmic counterpoint to his own. The girl's arm brushed occasionally against his side and he could smell the slightly musty fragrance of the great cat's fur blended with the greenness of the grasses crushed by their pounding feet. The air was sweet, the light unshadowed – he knew in his heart he could run like this forever and would never tire. The three of them were one, a part of the continuity of existence, an inseparable unit of youth, courage and joy.

They ran as one, leaping with wide paces across the land. At times they flew, their feet losing contact with the earth for unimaginable moments during which they hung suspended and weightless against the sky. The humans laughed and the beast purred with a deep throb which made the air pulsate like a beating heart. They ran and drank the air as light showers of rain refreshed them and the sun dried them.

Then when at last they chose to leave off running, the three sank to the ground like birds coming to rest, folding lightly, gracefully into a interlocked whole. The man and the woman relaxed against the long body of the cat and embraced one another, finding in the act of love the culmination of their unity and the epitome of their communication. Then ... sleep. And dreams of flying.

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Aquelev was at his bedside when he woke. Remembering his resolution, Nooj did not immediately agitate for his release from the straps holding him so rigidly. It had taken him a moment to shake off the residue of his dreams and to recognize the reality of his immobility. Equally, he was determined to hold his anger at the additional bonds firmly in check.

"Are you feeling better, my friend?" The Healer asked with real concern. "Do you need any help in dealing with pain?"

"Not at the moment. I'm grateful to have my mind clear for a change and want to talk to you while that's still true." Nooj drew a carefully shaped smile on his lips. "Could you raise the bed so that I don't have to strain to look up at you?"

When that had been done and the two men comfortably facing one another, Nooj continued, "I have been thinking about what you said and what Kalek told me about these new devices you have given me." He was carefully choosing neutral language so as not to arouse suspicion with too rapid an acquiescence. "I would like to hear more about how they are meant to work."

Aquelev relaxed back into his chair. He had been nervous about how he would be greeted today when the maimed man discovered he had been strapped down again and had braced himself for demands that the bindings be released. With care taken to speak clearly and exactly, he outlined the manner in which the receptors in the machina units would receive the impulses from the neurons firing in the host body and transform them into power with which to actually move the appropriate parts of the new limbs. "So, you see, you will start by gross movements, the whole thing and proceed until you can easily lift an egg safely in your left hand. Within weeks we expect you to be walking with only a cane and doing almost everything for yourself." He concluded cheerfully.

Nooj pushed back into the pillow and closed his eyes, feigning reluctant thought, "I can see this is my best chance to return to service of some sort. ... Very well, I will give it a try. When do we begin?"

The Healer make no effort to conceal his delight. "I'll have to check with the therapists but we'll try sitting you up tomorrow. Not much can be done before the incisions are healed and the areas less sensitive. And you will be given help to manage pain during the sessions. You'll be surprised at how quickly it all goes." He suddenly leaned forward, "I almost forgot. Here are the lens that were prescribed for you." He held out a flat case then, recognizing his error, flushed and opened it, removing a pair of spectacles and unfolding the temples. "Here." He placed the glasses on his friend's face and adjusted them so they sat level.

Nooj rubbed his head against the pillow to settle the frames in their proper position. "It would be nice to be able to straighten them." He murmured meekly.

"Yes, of course. I don't think there's any more need for these." Aquelev turned back the sheet and unfastened the tie holding the other's hand to the rails. "I'll just leave a note to the effect you're to be left free with just these side-rails for protection." He unbuckled the straps which crossed the chest and the hips. "That should be better. You aren't going to do anything rash again, are you?" There was a note of doubt in his voice.

Nooj smiled wanly, "No, I've learned I can't gain anything that way. I'll be a model patient from now on." He awkwardly resettled the spectacles and peered through them. "At least I can see clearly again. I didn't realize how much I was missing until just now." He was tired but content in what he had managed to accomplish so far. One step at a time. Again the irony struck him and he smiled a smile which was promptly misunderstood by his Al Bhed friend.

Jan 5, 200651812910


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Now we'll just raise the head of the bed as high as it can go and you can sit upright." The soothing voice of the therapist poured like syrup over the scene of organized chaos. Two sturdy orderlies stood at hand, one on each side of the narrow bed, ready to support the man who was the object of the exercise. The Healer Aquelev leaned forward on the balls of his feet, unaware that his nervous movements reflected the posture of the attendants. Kalek watched the proceedings with concentration, ready to call a halt at the first sign of any undue stress on his surgical handiwork. Various nurses and technicians paced like clockwork figures around the room, doing nothing to any apparent purpose save adding to the stir.

As the tall, pale man on the bed was moved into a sitting position, Aquelev glided forward to place his hand lightly on the right arm. From this touch, he would monitor the level of pain and provide a constantly varying flow of analgesic spells to mitigate the worst of it. One orderly swung the patient's legs over the side of the bed and manually flexed the knee on the artificial left limb so that Nooj could sit more normally. It was the first time he had been vertical since the encounter with Sin and he was free of the various tubes which had kept him tethered to the bed. The catheter had finally been removed. He had not realized how much the recovery of even that small amount of autonomy would mean.

He reached to adjust the spectacles which were slipping down his nose and immediately lost his balance when the right arm was no longer supporting him. Quick hands gently braced his shoulders and prevented a fall back to the mattress. "There, it's all right. Just sit still and try to focus."

"Get out of my mind," Nooj glared at Aquelev. "I've told you to stay out. I can handle this."

"No, you can't. If I stop reinforcing your own controls, you won't be able to take it." The Healer assumed his professional role.

"Let me try. I have to know." With a sudden scream, he jerked against the grip of his supporters, almost tearing free as Aquelev removed, then hastily replaced the blocking spells. Nooj was pallid, bathed in an icy sweat as he pulled himself up, straightening his back and fumbling for his dignity. "I wasn't ready. You took me off guard."

"Want to try it again?" The question was flat and toneless. Cringing inside, Aquelev dared show no hesitance in his treatment of his friend and patient.

"No. Let it go. Just stay as minor as you can. When do I start to walk?"

Kalek bent to examine the implantation sites. "No damage. That's good. Walk? You have to learn how to use the limbs first. Today, you can sit up on the side of the bed for a little while. Same thing this afternoon. Tomorrow, we'll get you into a chair and a longer time sitting. When you can stay in the chair most of the day and if the incisions are still healing well, then the therapist will start on the exercises."

Nooj shook his head, "That's too long. I don't want to wait."

The surgeon exchanged glances with the head of therapy, one of the Al Bhed who had developed the new limbs. "Very well, we can change the order in which you learn to use the neural connectors and start on the hand rather than the arm. You have to be able to sit up for several hours first, you understand?"

A grim nod was the reply, "I'll do what it takes. Let me try the chair this afternoon."

Kalek raised a brow. "You can try." He looked with grudging admiration at the man holding himself with such brittle determination, refusing to submit to the demands of his weakened body. "I think you had better lie down now. It won't do any good to overtire on your first venture. Rest and think about this afternoon."

With a silent gesture of assent, Nooj permitted the attendants to help him return to his former position. The first hurdle was past.

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"Why are you changing the program?" Aquelev asked his fellow countryman.

"No reason not to." Kalek noted with satisfaction his hands were steady today. "Do you know Palange? No? Well, he's the one who was by the bed this morning. The one I checked with. He led the team which developed the machina with artificial intelligence. He's also going to be the therapist for Nooj since he trained in that field as well. If he thinks he can do it this way, it's all right. The main thing is to keep the patient cooperative and fully involved."

"Oh, I don't have any doubt Nooj will keep his word. He a bit of a fanatic on that front. Just warn Palange his patient will take over the program unless he's very firm." Aquelev looked thoughtful. "I wish I knew what made him change his mind so suddenly. I don't know his motives and that worries me."

"I thought you were his best friend."

"Nooj doesn't have a best friend. He let me get closer to him than most but he's still a very private person who keeps himself to himself. If he has something in mind, nobody will know until the last minute."

Kalek asked with concern. "You're doing all the pain control by yourself, aren't you? Is it too much being on call all the time? I can assign another Healer to spell you if you need some time off."

Aquelev shook his head. "Nooj never asks for me. He'd rather hurt than admit weakness now he's over the first day or so. And it's better for his peace of mind to have me the one who intervenes when it's necessary. He would waste his strength fighting a stranger. I'll tell you if I need help later. Are you pleased with the progress?"

"By and large, I am." Kalek answered slowly. "You said he was strong. At first I thought you just meant physically. Now I'm beginning to see it's all through him from his body to his will. I think if any man can make this work, it will be this man. I hate to admit it but he's a marvel."

"I know. And he's as loyal as he is brave. That's why I couldn't bear to lose him. You don't find that sort very often."

"Too bad he's a Deathseeker."

"Don't bruit that around. It's not general knowledge, not even among the Crusaders. I'm hoping we can turn him from that if the implants are impressive enough." The Healer sighed.

"I still can't understand why a living person with so much ahead would choose to throw it all away for some vague idea." The surgeon looked at his hands; they were still quiet.

"It's part of some sort of chivalric idea, I think. It may be one of those things a Warrior culture finds essential. We practical hoi polloi would find no value in something like that." The two men laughed softly and comfortably together.

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Nooj hated the fact that the most efficient way to shift him from the bed to the chair was in the cradling arms of two orderlies. However, since it was obvious it was to be that way or postpone the beginning of therapy, he closed his eyes, clamped his lips shut and pretended he was somewhere or someone else.

Once settled in the padded chair, he observed with sour interest the almost choreographic actions of his attendants. His left leg was manipulated so that the sole of the foot pressed firmly against the rest attached to the chair and a small table was moved into position at his left side. The machina arm was gently moved to the table, the elbow bent manually so that the wrist could lie flat on the surface. A soft band was tightened around his chest to make sure he did not slip and similar straps were used to hold the insensate arm properly in place.

With the exercise of a great deal of will power, Nooj had made himself look at the replacement limbs. The garish color and the exposed mechanism continued to repel him but he could appreciate the skill and craftsmanship of the design. Now, he carefully examined the structure of the hand he was to learn to use. It was a module of rods and pulleys, attached to the arm by an intricate connector which, from its appearance, would permit turning and flexing. Small cables passed over gleaming guides and led to increasingly minute points of attachment. It looked like a skeletal model of a human hand cast in metal and ceramic. He thought with some dismay how difficult it would be to keep debris out of the multiple openings.

"Hello." Nooj was distracted by the voice of the lanky raw-boned man standing before him. "I'm Palange, your therapist. I see you're looking at your new hand. It may look peculiar now but we're making a special padded glove for you to wear which will protect the delicate parts of the hand and make it look more like the one it's replacing. You can have any color, so long as it's black." He laughed at his own joke and held out his own hand for Nooj to shake.

Nooj declined the offer, not willing to accept this new person without more information. "I was wondering how to keep all the mechanical parts clean."

Palange looked younger than he probably was, like so many who spend their lives with the young or damaged. His Al Bhed eyes were larger than most and his desert-bleached hair fell artlessly across his forehead and into his field of vision. He was continually having to push it back. "Don't worry about it. We'll teach you how to care for the new things at the same time we teach you to use 'em. I worked with the team that developed these so anything you want to ask ..."

"how long will it take me to walk?"

"That pretty much depends on two things. First – how hard you're willing to work. And second – how much talent you have in using your mind, not thinking, but directing. It's hard to explain what I'm talking about but you'll see, probably today. Want to get started?"

Nooj answered immediately and with force. "Yes."

"OK. Go into your mind. Close your eyes if it helps, and look for the place your hand is. Find your right one first by moving your fingers and seeing where you sense it. Then look for the place the left one should be." Palange put the tips of his fingers lightly on the artificial hand.

Aquelev moved a little closer in order to monitor the condition of his friend. So far, the pain was easily controlled but who knew what Nooj might trigger moving inside his own head?

The interior of the mind is a strange and confusing place. It is not an orderly attic but a confused morass of unlabeled switches and paths ending nowhere. Nooj flexed his right index finger and with small effort located the genesis of the movement then, using that knowledge as a template searched for the equivalent location for the left hand. He found the general area and gingerly probed the neurons there. What he felt was the brutal pain he associated with what Kalek had called 'phantom limb syndrome'. It was the right place but the connection seemed to be to the destroyed hand not the new one. The correct triggers must be in this general vicinity, he thought and redoubled his search.

"Rest now for a little." A comforting touch on his shoulder broke his concentration. "Tell me what you found." Palange bent a compassionate gaze on the frustrated man.

When Nooj had told the therapist what the problem was, Palange massaged his own chin thoughtfully. "I see. I didn't know about the other thing. Let me give this some thought. You've worked hard enough today and should rest now. Tomorrow I'll try to have some suggestions to get past this."

Nooj was too exhausted to argue. Without complaint, he permitted the orderlies to restore him to his bed and raise the protective railings.

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He lay in the darkened room, motionless but awake for a long time. Failure had never come easy to him and this inability to move quickly to secure his release from the hospital was intensely frustrating. Turning back the covers from his left side, he glared at the unresponsive hand. The attendants had carefully arranged the machina arm alongside his body, the hand turned on its edge, fingers straight, not quite touching his thigh. With his full attention engaged, Nooj tried again to make the digits move. He struggled with the mental controls until his head ached, his eyes burned and his concentration began to falter as he passed into a dreaming state.

---------------------------------------------

They were on one of the ledges just beneath the main surface of the Calm Lands, hidden from casual view. The three of them – Kaith, himself and Nepetu. He and Kaith were cushioned in the soft air, she sitting between his legs and leaning against his chest. The Queen Coeurl lay a little distance away, alert for intruders as usual. He was content. Kaith breathed deeply and turned to offer her mouth. He kissed her with increasing passion, lifting her breasts in both his hands. Gently he laid her back on the grass and knelt over her, exploring her with his lips and his touch. Her skin was satin under his fingertips, warm and yielding. There was nothing about her which was not perfection and he reveled in the re-discovery of her body as he tenderly removed her clothing only pausing in his journey through her garden of wonders to shed his own garments. Everywhere he ventured was a fresh delight; his touch left a path of light across her loveliness like moonlight on a lake. He drew her to him and felt the narrow bones in her shoulders and spine as weightless as the elegant armature of a bird resting lightly in his palms. The feel of her smooth flesh and the taste of her mouth stoked his desire and he shifted his position in order to satisfy their mutual need. Tremors of fulfillment coursed through him and he was suddenly awake with the smell of lust in his nostrils and the sensation of moisture in his groin.

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It had been a long time since such an occurrence; he was taken aback that it should have happened at this time when he could not manage the cleaning up by himself. It seemed to put a final stamp of humiliation on the day. He knew he would be discovered by those who bathed him each morning and feared there would be smirking comments and ribald jokes in which he would be expected to share. It was somewhat comforting to know that this particular system still functioned as it should, but he would have preferred the proof manifest itself after he had regained more of an ability to care for his own needs. Should he ask for Aquelev to be called? The Healer was the closest thing to a confidant he had and could be trusted to keep his secret. But Aquelev was not of that class expected to do personal and intimate services for a patient. Nooj was not willing to break the caste barriers to that extent. Helplessly, he resigned himself to the gibes of the orderlies and turned his head forlornly to the side.

His glance fell upon one of the sources of his despair, the implanted arm. There was something different about the way it looked. Quietly, he fumbled for his spectacles and awkwardly hooked them in place. There was no mistake – the metal fingers were curled inward. They had been left straight, parallel to the leg and now they were touching the sheath which provided support to the lower limb. Nooj turned his gaze away and counted to ten very slowly before he dared look again. The fingers and the thumb had moved since they had been arranged in place. They were definitely bent toward the palm. He clamped down on his excitement and tried to shift them deliberately. Slowly they stretched back into a line, then jerkily moved into a curve again. With a sudden impetuous impulse, Nooj closed the hand, making it into a fist. If he could have raised his arm, he would have made an exultant stab into the air. The hand worked! He could control it! He formed the mental image of Kaith's breast and, mentally, cupped the machina hand gently around it rejoicing to see the skeletal phalanges take the shape of the treasured memory. It was true! Kalek and Aquelev had told him the truth! These were usable objects. The hand might be able to grip a sword's hilt. It might even be possible for him to rejoin his unit, to be a Crusader again. He dropped back against his pillow, ignoring the throbbing pain from his side, and laughed silently to himself.

He reached for the shoulder controls and thought he felt an answering twitch. It was difficult to tell since the weight of the metal and ceramic arm made it far more difficult to shift. With the glee of a boy in a toy store, he tried the elbow and was rewarded with the sound of scratching against the sheet as the joint flexed slightly. He braced himself against the pain he knew would accompany a more forceful action and tried again. The arm bent until the hand pressing against the sheath stopped the motion. He could see the clumsy disposition of the limb in the dim light. Taking a deep breath, he stretched out the arm again so that it lay straight beside his torso.

Nooj was exhausted but still too excited to sleep. Overriding the stabbing sensations which prevailed throughout most of his left side, he forced himself to rest until his energy had the time to recoup itself. He would try the leg before he was done. It should be easier because more of the original limb remained.

After a while, he could contain his impatience no longer. Eagerly, he sent his determined commands to the left knee. He could not see it as clearly as he had the arm but the dim shape shifted slightly. Even so slowly, ever so minutely, the thin cables began to contract and the lower leg rubbed against the linens. Suddenly breathless, Nooj let go and relaxed. His head was pounding with the effort of concentration and his side was ablaze with agony but he was oblivious to all that. He could do it! He could move the abominations which had been foisted upon him! There was no doubt he would walk again. Abolished was the hideous future of a slumped heap in an invalid's chair – dependent always upon the kindnesses of strangers. He would be a functioning man again. With a wry twist of his mouth, he remembered just how functional he was. What did that matter? He was on his way to freedom, he would fight again. He would even face Sin for an unprecedented third time. And this time he would win!

Then utter weariness claimed him and he slipped without protest into the world of sleep – and no dreams.

Jan 13, 200651812910


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

When the morning came and the usual early bustling in the wards began, Nooj had almost forgotten the embarrassment of his dream-induced accident in his joy at his ability to manipulate the machina. It was only when the usual team was preparing him for his bath that he remembered and felt the confusion he had anticipated. The Healer peeked in to cast the analgesic spell which would permit him to be moved without excessive pain and passed on to the next room. The orderly, with an armload of linens, pushing a wheeled table of bathing supplies, cheerily began his duties. The bath was the part of the day Nooj hated worst. He loathed the touch of strange hands on his body, the necessary intrusions into his private places. Most of all, he resented the helpless infantilism symbolized by it all. This particular morning's ritual was both mitigated by his euphoria over his mastery of the machina and worsened by the event which had preceded that victory.

"Ah, so you had a visitor last night. Anybody I know?" the man smiled as he deftly stripped off the soiled bedclothes and slid a waterproof sheet beneath his patient. "Good to know the original equipment still works as advertised." He was just nattering as he briskly washed his patient's body and patted it dry. "Here, let's just slip into this fresh shirt and I'll put on clean linen and you're set for the day."

Nooj cursed himself for his worries. He should have realized persons who did this sort of work encountered such manifestations of humanity as a matter of course and would think no more about them than the stray blood stain or urine spill. Excessive self-consciousness had always been his Achilles heel for which the enforced familiarity of hospital care was the punishment. He relaxed, feeling the effect of the spell dispelling most of the normal fog of pain, and began exercising his left hand. He was still feeling the dual response but was able to distinguish between them now. It took an effort of will to set aside the convincing sensory evidence that the flesh hand was aflame, however his driving desire to escape the oppressive care of this place was such that he could prevail over this obstacle as well as any others.

Thus when Aquelev made his first visit of the day, he was greeted in an uncommonly cheerful manner.

"Look!" Nooj did not bother with the normal greeting, "I can do it." He twitched the sheet back and shaped the machina hand into a fist, then straightened it again. "It moves."

The Healer bent over the bed, "Do it again," he ordered. "You've got it!" He looked at Nooj with shining eyes. "That's smooth; you can start on the arm today, I'll bet. Wait 'til Palange sees this. How did you do it?"

Nooj laughed, "Slow down. I'll tell you. I woke last night and noticed the fingers were bent and tried to move them and it all came together. I don't even have to concentrate any more. I just will them to move and they do. And – I've already started on the arm ... and the leg. Watch."

Both pairs of eyes focused intently as Nooj bent the elbow slightly and then flexed the knee, dragging the still immobile foot into a ludicrously tilted position on the bed. He laboriously re-straightened the joints and let himself fall back against the pillows, breathing heavily from his exertions.

"See? All I need now is practice. The hand can grip, I'm sure. Put something in the fingers."

Aquelev carefully placed his own hand within the clasp of the prosthetic one. "Try to squeeze my fingers."

"I hope I don't break them." Nooj made an uncertain joke as he closed the metal rods against the flesh and bone within their reach. Slowly the phalanges wrapped around the human hand until the two were firmly closed together.

"Perfect!" Aquelev shouted. "How are you judging pressure? It's just right. Like a real hand. With the padded glove, it'll be perfect. I told you it would work!" Without thinking, Aquelev clapped Nooj on the shoulder. "Oh! Sorry! Here." He cast a quick spell to numb the pain he had caused and sat down suddenly. "I just can't believe you've done it so fast. It's a miracle! You're a wonder!"

"I'm using my eyes to see how far to press." Nooj grinned, for a moment looking like the boy he might have been had his life been different. He gently released his friend's hand. "Why do I need Palange anymore? I know how to do it now and I work better on my own."

"Not a good idea. He knows the ins and outs of these devices. He invented them, you know. Now that you're on your way, he can suggest short cuts. Don't try to be so independent, Nooj. All of us need a little help sometimes. You're too damn proud. How's the pain? Kalek gave me some literature on 'phantom pain' and I think I can tailor some of my spells to suppress it directly. Want me to try?"

Nooj shook his head, "Not now. You might interfere with my understanding of the triggers in these ... things." He gestured toward the implants. "Let me get walking first and then we'll see what else needs to be done. ... Aquelev, can you send for Palange now and let me get started on the exercises? Get the orderlies to help me into the chair?"

The Al Bhed was astonished. This was the first time he had heard Nooj ask for help. He broke into a wide grin, "Wait a minute. You haven't had breakfast yet and I don't know where Palange is at this hour. I know you're excited but let's take it by the book. Let me elevate the head of the bed and we'll do some experimenting while we wait for your food."

"I'm not interested in food. I want out of this prison. Yes, raise my head; I want to locate the wrist controls and get on with this." Nooj restrained himself from an angry outburst, reminding himself his best chance for freedom was co-operation.

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At first, it was like building a citadel from sugar cubes. Progress would be made and then, for no obvious reason, everything would shift and all the painstaking work would vanish, leaving the effort to be made again. In spite of his resolutions, Nooj became frustrated and bad tempered. He swore at the implanted limbs using language of great inventiveness and vigor.

"It is not helpful to reflect on the parentage of myself and my fellow engineers, " Palange stiffly remarked after one particularly non-productive session. "I assure you none of us was motivated by hatred of you personally when we designed the interface for these implements."

Nooj threw himself back into his chair and snarled. The arm had stuck at a ridiculous angle and it had taken him considerable time and much effort before he had been able to return it to its resting position. To complete the fiasco, the glass he had been lifting with his hand had shattered when the fingers closed too tightly and he had not yet been able to unclench his grip on the shards.

Aquelev, ever the diplomat, tried to defuse the atmosphere. "We've got the new gloves in. Nooj, you're going to like them; they're very realistic -" He almost ducked when both the other men glared at him with murderous eyes.

"Look, Palange, I can't rely on these things so what use are they? What if something like the hand happens when I am ..." Nooj broke off awkwardly, not willing to complete his thought to the Al Bhed.

"When you're having it on with a woman?" The therapist responded. "You'll hurt her, I guess. Let me take a closer look at the hand." He strapped on his magnifiers and pressing the rods out flat on the side table began probing with one of the instruments from his kit. "Here it is – this cable slid off its guide and the whole set snapped shut." He gingerly tugged the fine wire back into place. Try it again."

Nooj closed his hand about the spool Palange placed between his fingers. "How are you going to stop that from happening again?"

"We'll make the flanges of the guide higher." He spoke into his recording device, using his own language. "They'll be ready tomorrow and I'll replace them then. Now let me see why the arm stuck like that." Pulling the magnifiers back into place, he began poking at the shoulder.

"How do you feel? Do you hurt?"

Nooj rounded on Aquelev like a tethered bear. "Of course I hurt! I always hurt! It's nothing I can't handle but stop asking those damned stupid questions."

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At length the sessions became less grueling and the results began to reflect the effort put into them. Finally, the day came when Nooj would take his first steps. He was wheeled from his room to the formal therapy suite where a special area was set aside for such rehabilitation. He had become proficient at using his left hand and arm and bending the left knee. Now it was time to put all his skills together and walk. Since the hip on the damaged side was intact, no difficulty was expected in that area so the exercise would focus on the flexing of the knee and ankle.

There was a general air of nervousness in the room as the patient was assisted from his chair by the strong hands of the two orderlies assigned to him. They positioned him at the beginning of the practice track and helped him grip the bars which ran on either side of the padded path. Nooj stood there for a long moment, balanced on his own feet for the first time in months, collecting himself for the effort before him. It was the first time he had actually placed weight on the machina leg and the pressure against the not yet calloused stump of his thigh was excruciating. He could feel the pins which secured the sheath and braced the prosthesis like a precarious scaffold. Ignoring the pain and the shakiness, he locked his elbows and leaned forward, swinging the left leg from the hip. It was a clumsy lurch, but he was able to shift his weight to the prosthesis and bring his remaining leg up to join it. The first step had been made.

Palange watched critically, "This time, bend the knee first and try to use the ankle to point the foot before you put it back down."

Nooj tried to follow the instructions and began to stumble, only just catching himself before he fell. He frowned in irritation and slowly drew his body back into alignment for the next try. This time, he moved with more caution and, using exaggerated motions, did as he had been bade. The knee lifted and straightened again and the heel followed the ball of the foot to the floor instead of striking at the same time. He heard the light sound of hands clapping and smiled faintly, shaking the sweat from his forehead.

Unnoticed in a corner of the room, Kalek gnawed at his trembling finger-tips. He had begun composing the article to be presented to his peers detailing how he had gone about tying the artificial intelligence built into the prostheses to the neural impulses of their user and was praying the experiment would be a success. He had not been able to bring himself to attend the earlier sessions because of his dread of failure and fear of his loss of prestige as the initiator of the technique.

At the center of this universe of varying expectations, the patient himself prepared to continue his walk. He lifted his head, wrinkled his nose to resettle his spectacles in place and gazed at the blank wall opposite. Then with halting clumsy lunges, he took step after step until he collapsed into the arms of the attendants waiting for him at the end.

"When do I graduate to a cane?" He demanded. "I want to see something besides these rooms and halls. I need openness, space."

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That night he lay sleepless in spite of his exhaustion. He had won most of his demands. He could try the use of a cane on the morrow and would be permitted to venture into the small park in the center of the hospital complex as soon as he had proved his competence on uneven ground. Palange had even almost promised him the freedom of the city before long. Aquelev had suggested an outing in his wheeled chair, just for the novelty of the venture and had been voted down by the other two doctors; still he had tried. Nooj smiled bleakly into the dimness of the room. The Healer worked so hard to be the mediator amongst them all.

Nooj wondered why they didn't want him to be seen as a cripple. Professional pride? He reached with his right hand and fingered the new cover he had been given for his left shoulder. When he had returned to his room after the walking therapy, a fresh set of Al Bhed engineers was waiting with this – a flexible soft integument to visually blend his own flesh with the upper part of the machina arm. They had exactly matched his skin tone and even he had to admit it made him look less like a badly assembled automaton and more human. Now both sites of implantation were concealed, one by the new shoulder piece, the other by the sheath which extended up to his hip. He intended to start wearing the padded glove on his left hand and that should continue the move to enable him to merge into the masses unnoticed.

He let his hand drift down to his torso and felt under his fingers the strangely smooth slickness of the edges of the wounds Sin had left. Candle wax, melted and hardened again, was the message that texture conveyed. He knew in the light of day, the skin was vividly scarlet, rivaling his Crusader uniform in brilliance of color. They had told him surgery could mitigate the appearance but not repair it. With a hiss of disgust, he refused to even consider more tinkering with his body. Garments would cover the scars; he was no exhibitionist.

He tried again to compose his mind to sleep but the questions and worries kept jostling for place at the forefront of his thoughts. It was good to know he could walk, albeit clumsily. He knew he would improve but would it be enough to regain him his place in the Crusaders? That was the problem. His superiors had given him to the Al Bhed for their experimental animal; would the Al Bhed release him and would the Army take him if they did? There were far too many variables in the situation for Nooj to be able to make a reasonable prediction. If he was permitted to return to the Crusaders, then he would pick up his career at the point it had been interrupted and continue as a Warrior – and a Deathseeker. If the Army rejected him, there were always mercenary units eager for warm bodies to whom they would owe nothing save cash for services. He could hunt Death as efficiently from within such ranks. With the attitude of most such units tolerant of eccentricity, he could even find Nepetu and take the Queen Coeurl along with him when he joined. ... If he was freed to join any military force. The claim the Al Bhed, in particular Kalek, had placed upon him was one he must reject. When he became ambulatory enough, he could simply walk away and let them try to hold him. He lifted the machina arm and lowered it then bent the artificial knee just to convince himself he was not totally trapped in the cage of the prostheses.

The thought of Nepetu lead inexorably to the memory of Kaith. He permitted himself to revisit those times with her, their laughter, their shared confidences, their love ...

Aware of what had happened earlier, Nooj reined in his recollections. He thought himself safe because he was awake but there was no sense in creating a situation in which the only possible outcomes were discomfort or embarrassment. His mood took a sudden downward plunge. Was this to be his fate from now on? Would he be confined to dreams with humiliating results or a celibacy which allowed no exceptions? What woman would want to see or touch this body? What woman would let herself be touched by these cold, unfeeling limbs? Aquelev had attempted to assure him women were so compassionate as to ignore such things, but Nooj did not believe that. He did not want to be tolerated because he was a hero, he wanted to be desired because he was a man. He tossed restlessly back and forth until he heard the nurse approaching and closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

When she had passed on her rounds and he was alone again, he turned his thoughts to his own internal concerns. He felt the compulsion to test his purposes. Since the time he had chosen to try to embrace the idea of living, he had been aware of an uncomfortable confusion in his mind. Death had been his destination from the time of his first encounter with Sin. For some reason he had abandoned the search during the time before their second meeting. Thinking back now, he could not piece together the trail of reasoning which had led him to do so. It all seemed fragmentary and unreal in his memory. At the time, he had convinced himself it was worth the trial. No matter how hard he tried to recreate that feeling here in the quiet dimness, he found it impossible. What had possessed him? Why had he thought he could could live when it was so clearly not his destiny? Nooj gazed up at the barely discernible ceiling and wondered at his credulity. He was the Undying, the Deathseeker, why had he thought he might force himself to be something else? He called before his mental eye the face of Death as he had seen her in his dreams and was immediately seized with a rush of emotion unlike any other he had ever felt. He was consumed with a desire so devastating it left all others belittled and destroyed. Shocked by the sheer intensity of his hunger, he let himself be buffeted and shaken by the longing for Death. It was not the loss of his limbs which so affected him, nor yet the uncertainty of his future pathway. This was the most overwhelming want he had ever felt. The lust for women and the wish for glory were nothing in comparison. The darkness of the embrace Death offered was the greatest comfort he could hope for, the final refuge and the home he had lost so long ago.

When he finally willed himself to emerge from the cathedral of his longing, he was confirmed in his decision and strengthened in his purpose. No more the half-sure boyish braggadocio, no more the not quite frightened not quite certain vision of Nothingness. Now he was clear-eyed and strong in his intent. This time he assured himself he would not fail. He knew now that he must face his Nemesis again and this time it would be the final confrontation.

He forced his muscles to relax and stretched one more time then composed himself to sleep. He did not dream.

Jan 18, 20065181299


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: I have written extensively about the process by which Nooj learned to use his prostheses in other stories. Any persons interested can easily find them. In order not to repeat myself too much, I am condensing the actual method and effort in this novella.

**Chapter Sixteen**

Leaning heavily on the metal cane gripped in his left hand, Nooj looked unseeingly around the courtyard enclosed and sheltered by the main structure of the hospital. It was a pleasant place with benches and tables scattered among the trees and the beds of brilliant flowers. Here and there fountains cooled the air, generating a soft masking music which afforded privacy for conversation or solitary thought. He noticed none of these amenities, being totally concentrated on the question of whether or not his future would be as he had hoped or left to his own invention. He expected some response from his former superiors in the Crusaders and was impatient at the delay.

He was dressed in a Crusader uniform, one specially modified for his new requirements. The left leg of the breeches had been cut so that it could be pulled over the prosthetic leg and then folded and slipped under the sheath which braced his thigh. The left sleeve had been widened to permit the insertion of the machina arm without difficulty. When he looked in the mirror, he recognized himself for the first time since his maiming. Even the vivid colors of the limbs were less garish when combined with the hues of the dress uniform. He still limped heavily but was practicing taking a few steps at a time without the cane and was falling less each session. There was no real reason he should not be returned to his old unit and serve at least adequately as a soldier again. He was still wary of handling his sword. The heavy blade required two hands to use properly and that was not yet possible. Perhaps he could, as Aquelev had suggested, learn to use another weapon. The main thing was to get back into training and routine. He was bored and continually angry with the slothful life of an invalid, a cripple.

The promised excursions into the city of Luca had never materialized. Each time he had brought up the subject, a new excuse had been offered until he was forced to conclude his controllers did not want him to be seen in public or found it desirable to isolate him from the masses of the populace for some purpose of their own. Finally, he had stopped asking comforting himself with the promise that soon he would be free of their strictures and could do as he pleased. Then they had continued to restrain him by challenging his ability to return to the army as an active Warrior.

It was a painful nuisance to sit down and stand again so Nooj avoided that as much as possible. He was restless and paced the manicured paths of the little garden. Patience had never been one of his virtues. As he walked he observed his own progress. Although he still limped even with the cane, his gait was much smoother and he was sure it would improve as he regained his strength and better learned to control the prosthetic leg. The lurching was worse when he was tired and he knew he would never be graceful again but he was grateful for even small increments in his abilities. The left arm was almost equal in its movements to the one he had lost. He could use the gloved hand with the utmost delicacy – so long as he watched his actions. With no feedback, he was unable to moderate his grasp by touch. He paused and, shifting the cane to his right hand, raised the left and flexed it watching with satisfaction the way in which the phalanges opened and closed with firm precision. It was worth the time-consuming maintenance each night to have a workable hand again.

He remembered his most recent conversation with Kalek.

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"I told you they would work out if you gave them time." The surgeon chortled with undisguised glee. "I knew they were installed the right way and had to work if you would try."

Nooj grimaced, "At least they'll get me back to the front. I admit they're less useless than I feared."

"You non-engineers never are willing to give the benefit of the doubt to progress. You always want to do things the way they've always been done. These limbs are remarkable. They're state of the art. You're lucky they came along in time for you."

"Yes, lucky." Nooj snarled bitterly. "Tell me something, Kalek. Why does it matter so much to you that I can use these things? Why am I so important to your schemes? Somebody else would have come along if I had been a failure for you."

"No!" Kalek spoke more loudly than was necessary. "You are the best candidate. You had to succeed." He clasped his hands together to stop their tremors and his companion noticed the gesture.

"Ah, I see. You're losing it, aren't you? You won't be a surgeon much longer with that problem. I was your last chance to do something like this?"

"Not so. I'm just tired right now and need to take a few days off. Working with a patient as stubborn as you isn't easy. I'm tired and ..."

"Becoming unreliable with the scalpel, eh? One of these days you'll kill somebody on the table and that will be the end of your career, eh? No wonder you had to use me."

The surgeon leapt to his feet, his face a twisted mask. He spat venomously, "That's a lie. You're an ungrateful brat with no understanding of how things work. You're an ignorant barbarian who can't use anything except violence to solve problems. I'm surprised you could muster the brain power to even twitch a finger of that perfect hand; if I had known the extent of your infantile lack of development, I would never have used you as my canvas. You're not worthy of my time and talent. You are nothing but a brutal killer who deserves to be put on a shelf and let rot. Self-pitying cretin! You claim you're taydrcaagan, well kill yourself then and stop whining about it." He ran out of breath and stood panting, his hands clenched at his sides.

"And when I kill myself, what becomes of your great experiment? What use to your reputation is a dead body disfigured by these hideous simulacra? How will you show off your surgical skill if your main attraction is rotting in his grave or gone to pyreflies? Your reasoning requires some refinement."

Kalek glared at the man in the bed, then seemed to deflate, "That was unprofessional of me. I am tired and that was careless. I want you to live and be happy. I want you to find your life made more tolerable by these inventions. We have worked together, you and I, to reach this point. ... I am going to leave you now." He turned and walked steadily out the door, leaving Nooj bemused at his reaction.

"I'm sure of my diagnosis," Nooj murmured to himself. "He is on his own slide into irrelevancy and it's driving him mad."

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In the courtyard, Nooj remembered and agreed with his earlier assessment. It was after that conversation Kalek had dropped his objections to Nooj petitioning for return to his Crusader unit. The surgeon had not been back since then and it had lately been bruited about the hospital that he had taken a leave of absence after his arduous recent duties. Nooj wished him well, trying to reconcile the contradictory emotions of resentment and gratitude. It would have been better had he not been saved but once his existence was assured, better the machina limbs than a life of slow suffocation, immobile and useless. Still the ideal was Nothingness and it was toward that he turned his thoughts as he continued to pace.

The pressure of the leg against the remnant of his thigh reminded him of the hurdles he had yet to leap before he would be positioned to search for his Quietus on the battlefield. He had never had to consider dying in any other scenario than fighting and now he realized he had no guarantee of continuing as a Warrior and must perforce touch on other plans. Suppose the worst happened and he was permanently barred from any of the armed forces. What would he do then? It was not a question of making a living, rather one of efficient dying and in such a manner as to preserve his honor. He could not accept the concept of taking his own life in an ignoble fashion. No, he must find a place to spend his existential capital so that it bought meaning of some sort. It would be best to die in the defense of a person or ideal. That was what he had always expected to happen. Had he been permitted to stop breathing in the fight against Sin, standing before Aquelev, that would have answered all the requirements. Once again he felt the hot surge of anger at those who had, as they thought, 'saved' him and at those who would refuse him the right to return to his proper place in the elite force for which he had spent his life training.

If he was denied a place in the formal bodies fighting the wars, he would have to join the irregulars, the renegades. He might be able to form his own small raiding party to fight at the edges of the main armies. Nooj shook his head at that. He preferred to work alone in the field and not to be responsible either to or for any others. The mercenary forces which hired themselves out to protect certain isolated settlements might be a possibility. He would have to eat while hunting his Death. In the end, he supposed he would simply follow at the heels of whatever group was most likely to encounter battle first. He was not unskilled in the scavenging arts, after all. There were always plenty of chances to pick up scraps where many marched and camped. Nothing seemed quite right; he could see no enticing path if the army rejected him.

What he did know was that the alluring arms of the Lady Death still beckoned to him and there was no other bosom upon which he would rather lie. Her face rose before him in its stern, implacable beauty and he let desire fill him until he was lost in the longing for her embrace. The courtyard vanished from his consciousness; he let himself be absorbed by the vision of Nothingness.

The sound of a gate opening broke into his musing. Startled, he spun toward the distraction, his right foot slipping on the grass. As he crashed to the ground he heard the alarmed shout of Aquelev as the Al Bhed ran to him.

"Nooj! Are you all right?" the Healer bent and held out a hand to assist the lame man to his feet.

Nooj batted away the offering of help and laborious levered himself upright with the aid of the cane. "I'm all right. I can manage. There won't always be somebody around to pull me up. I thought you were the courier I've been waiting for."

Aquelev, abashed, drew back and waited until the other was standing securely again before drawing an envelope from his pocket. "In a way, I am. I was on my way to see you and met the messenger from the Crusaders. Here's the letter from them." He handed the wax-sealed missive to his friend. "I knew you would want it right away and those official messengers can take forever to find their way anywhere, you know how confusing the hospital... " His voice trailed off as he watched Nooj look at the address on the front of the envelope.

"They're still calling me Major," he said with a feeble attempt at humor. "Maybe that means they still have a use for me." He hobbled over to a near-by bench and dropped down heavily, closing his eyes and letting the letter rest on his lap. "I hope it's not a desk job. Dying from boredom is not my purpose."

"Do you want me to go away?" Aquelev asked quietly, aware of the other man's distaste for having his privacy invaded. "I can come back later."

"No, stay. Your presence or absence won't change what's written in here." He tapped the envelope against his living knee. "They've either accepted me back or thrown me out and I can't make any plans until I know which."

"You can always stay here or go to our engineering headquarters. Our researchers would be grateful to have your input on their devices and you could help them design even better ones."

"Become a sort of semi-ambulatory teaching device and test object? You mean well, Aquelev, but I'm a soldier – a Warrior. My place is at the battle front." He looked at the item he held for a much longer time, then handed it to the other. "Break the seal for me, if you will. My hands are clumsy today."

Aquelev pulled the ribbon to crack the wax holding the flap and slid out the pages inside. Silently, he handed them to Nooj who unfolded the two thick sheets and read.

"It seems I was wrong. It is not an either/or answer. Oh, they're throwing me out of the Crusaders all right. It seems I no longer fit their requirements at this time. But they are advising me to instead apply for a position in a new force they're forming. As I understand their meaning – and it's obscure in parts – the Crusaders have been so decimated by the recent battles they are having to be reconstituted and so ... This is where it gets crazy. They are putting together a new corps which will be trained to head the smaller segments of the Crusaders. They say I'm not good enough to be a Crusader and they want me to be a Commander of a Crusader unit? This is insane. It sounds like an idea of an army dreamed up by people who have never had any experience in or with an army. It make no sense at all." He held out the papers. "Here, read it yourself."

Aquelev slowly read through the formal response for a request to return to active duty. "That does seem odd. It sounds like the Maesters have taken control from the Generals. I know Yevon has Warrior-Priests but this sounds like it's going beyond that. Did the priests have the final say when you were first in the Army?"

"Not that I was ever aware of. You're right; this does reek of Yevon. Strange, they never got involved in our training. Wonder why they're meddling now." Nooj slouched back against the bench and brooded. "They're so devious there's no telling what they're up to."

"What are you going to do about this?" The Al Bhed raised a quizzical brow. "Will you take the offer to join this -" he looked back at the message, "Crimson Squad project?"

"I don't know. I've got to get out of here before I turn into one of the shambling, drooling zombies who infest this institution. I've got to find a way back to my real profession. I just don't know what the best way will be." He stretched out his legs, the left one glittering in the mid-day sun. "Look at me! I'm such a prize any armed force would leap at the chance to have me! Once they know I'm available, they'll be fighting over what's left of my body." The bitter self-mockery ended raggedly as he turned away from the other.

Aquelev reached out a comforting hand, but did not quite dare touch the maimed man. He was suddenly strongly aware of the barriers Nooj had erected to protect himself from pity and its companion, scorn.

"No, I've got to get back to the real world," Nooj continued. "This has been a way-station on the road to my real destination. I've let myself go soft and dependent and that's not the way I have to be if I'm to make it to the end." He was talking more to himself than for the benefit of the attentive Healer. "I keep making the same mistakes. And keep having to make the same corrections."

Aquelev misinterpreted the words and inflections. "Are you still in a great deal of pain? I can help with that and can teach you some ways to more effective control."

With alarming speed, Nooj turned on his friend. "That is exactly what I mean. I have become dependent on others and I can't be. Of course, I'm in pain. What do you think? That this intrusion into my living flesh will be ignored by the part of me that's still me? Yes, I still feel the lost parts and they hurt. And yes, I expect it to be like this for so long as I am forced to continue in this parody of a life. And no, I do not expect to have a personal Healer at my side for however long that is. It's my job to deal with this, not yours. I'll have to figure out how to keep myself from rolling on the ground and howling when it gets really bad. I'm not a child any more. I don't wait for somebody else to wipe my tears when I have a boo-boo. I'm a man. A man who is broken and patched back together. I hurt. I can handle it; I have to." He clenched his teeth so that the muscles in his jaw stood out and made him look as fierce as he did in battle.

Frightened and obscurely insulted, the Al Bhed drew into himself like a threatened tortoise. He could think of nothing to say which might ease the situation so he simply shifted his position slightly away from the baleful man sharing the bench.

More gently, Nooj spoke again, "This time is over, Aquelev. We have come to the conclusion of this act of the play. It is time for us to return to our own worlds. I am a Warrior, or what's left of one. You are an engineer and a Healer. There is no more healing possible for me and I have had my fill of engineering. Where I must go now, you cannot come. I have to set my face toward my own destination and so must you. Your friendship has been invaluable to me and for it, I am grateful. But this interval is over. We must be realists." He faced the other man fully, looking into the swirling pupils with unusual intensity. "I wish you well and am certain you will prosper."

Aquelev found he could not speak past the obstruction which choked his throat and made his eyes brim with moisture. Wordlessly, he held out his hand and grasped the one offered in return. Wordlessly, he stood and walked from the courtyard, not looking back.

Alone again, as so often in the past, Nooj analyzed what he had done. He was free to move again, as well as he could. It had been necessary to cut away the entangling presence of all those who had seen him weak and faltering. If he was to gain his position in the world of the Warrior again, he could not afford to have reminders of his helplessness about him. What he had told Aquelev was true. He was the only controller of his fate. He could manage to surmount the pain he felt and knew he would keep feeling. When it was too much to bear, he could go into a far place and scream until it abated. There would be drugs and alcohol to help – he could manage. What he could not face was the constant reminder of his time in this cosseted menage, this carefully structured environment where he was shielded against all adversity. It was an affront to his manhood and his honor.

Thoughtfully, he gathered the scattered pages of the message from the Army. He thought he might first go and see if Nepetu was still where he had been left and then investigate what the Crimson Squad might offer him. With a resolute step, he proceeded to his rooms to collect his few possessions and resume his interrupted journey toward Death.

01/23/065181299


End file.
